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ONLY A 


commoner 


By NAT GOULD 

Author of “Jockey Jack,” “Harry Dale’s Jockey,” 
“ Stuck Up,” etc. 

-oP'fn'eKr 


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ifiimiSItsoNs™ , 

276 29 West tvbfnTYT HIRP st.^ 


ONLY A COMMONER 

By NAT GOULD 


o 


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ONLY A COMMONER 


NAT^^GOULD 


< < 

(VERAX) 


AUTHOR OF “THE DOUBLE EVENT,” “HARRY DALE’S JOCKEY,” 
“ THROWN AWAY,” ETC. 


NEW YORK 



GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED 

27 AND 29 West Twenty-Third Street 
London & Manchester. 


Copyright, 1895, 

BY 

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. THE YEOMAN 7 

II. HARD AS FLINT 7 I 7 

III. THE DERWENT LIGHT 29 

IV. THE NEW LIFE 4 I 

V. AT THE MOUNT 5 I 

VI. MYSTERY SHOWS PACE 60 

VII. RALTON -AT THE MOUNT 7 1 

VIII. A MAN SURPRISED IS HALF BEATEN 80 

IX. ARTHUR NEWMAN WRITES 9 1 

X. IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY 99 

XI. ADA LAWTON IO9 

XII. BULLERANA STATION I 1 7 

XIII. - PEDIGREE UNKNOWN 1 28 

XIV. RALTON AT WORK 1 38 

XV. ‘‘is that THE MARE I46 

XVI. DICK MURTON I58 

XVII. A NOTE OF WARNING 1 68 

XVIII. QUITE BY ACCIDENT 1 79 


6 contents: 

CHAPTER - PAGE 

XIX. RALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES 1 89 

XX. ‘‘i’ll tell you on the course.” 200 

XXL AN OBJECTION TO MYSTERY 210 

XXII. THE HOBART CUP 2 20 

XXIII. A STRANGE FATALITY 23O 

XXIV. HE WHO DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS 239 

XXV. THE detective’s STORY 248 

XXVI. A DAY AT RYDAL FARM 258. 

XXVII. GEORGE ANDREWS SPEAKS.. 267 

XXVIII. FROM THE DUKE 


ON LY A COMMONER 


CHAPTER I. 

THE YEOMAN. 

Twilight was gently heralding the approach of 
night, and the day was softly stealing away. It was 
harvest time amidst the peaceful hills and dales of 
Derbyshire. There was a scent of new-mown hay 
in the air, which was rendered somewhat overpower- 
ing with its fragrance. From a distant hill the 
sound of the mowing machine could be faintly heard 
as the driver went his last round. The birds were 
twittering in their leafy bowers, bidding each other 
good-night amidst the shade of the elder trees and 
the giant chestnuts. 

The fowls were quietly going to roost on the 
lower branches of the trees, and the snores of the 
pigs could be heard from their snug old styes cov- 
ered with ivy and moss, that betokened age. 

The men servants were idling in the farmyard 
after the day's toil, chatting over the trivial inci- 
dents of their every-day life. 

They had very few cares on their mind. Life was 


8 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


hard to them did they but know it, but they were 
content to go on as their fathers had done before 
them, and as their children would after they were 
gone. 

A dull, monotonous life the English farm laborers 
lead, but the men do not seem to know it, and are 
happy in their way. 

Hawthorn Farm had been tenanted by the Wildes 
for three generations, under the Dukes of 

The present representative of the family, John 
Wilde, was a hale, hearty, healthy, fine-looking man 
of about fifty years of age, or perhaps a few years 
older. He was a typical specimen of the old yeo- 
man stock from which he had sprung, that stock 
which is the sinew and backbone of England. 

No titled gentlemen the Wildes, although one of 
them in days gone by had fought for his country, 
and another had occupied a high position at the 
bar, and afterwards attained to eminence as a judge. 
They were what John Wilde represented them to 
be, true types of the British farmer or yeoman. A 
hard-working, thrifty, prosperous race they had been 
in days gone by. They had tilled the land and en- 
hanced its value many-fold since the first Wilde 
came to Hawthorn Farm under the third Duke. 

Time had not dealt harshly with the old home- 
stead ; it was a picturesque spot. The old-fashioned 
white cottage nestled at the top of a slope which 
ran down in varied undulations to the river Dove, 
which wended its way through the valley. 

Beyond, the land rose again until it seemed as 
though it had been formed to tempt a daring 


THE YEOMAN, 


9 

engineer to bridge it over with some new design of 
suspension bridge. 

The cottage was white, that peculiar gritty white 
almost like small pieces of coral plastered together. 
It had small windows, with diamond-shaped panes, 
and on the inside an old wainscoted seat ran round 
the bow-shaped window. 

The porch was covered with climbing roses, and 
the pear trees clambered up either side of the walls, 
and became entwined with creepers as they rose to 
the top. 

In front of the house a garden in full bloom, and 
the white gravel walk was carefully tended, not a 
weed could be seen among it. 

A sunk wall divided the cottage from the croft in 
front, and on this fine summer's night it was a 
charming sight to see the small pony attached to 
one of the old-fashioned milk-wheels, drawing a can 
full of water up from the spring. 

How peaceful it all looked, and how contented 
must all be within the walls of Hawthorn Farm ! 

Harvest prospects were none too good ; the 
drought had been severe, and the crops were light. 
In some places the machine left behind it a few 
streaks of grass which could almost have been blown 
away by a puff of wind. 

There was very little grass in the meadows, and 
the water was scarce, the river being a mere apology, 
and was now a trickling stream. 

Still, for all that, the inmates of Hawthorn Farm 
did not seem very discontented. 

In the old-fashioned yard at the rear of the cottage 


lO ONLY A COMMONER, 

could be heard the sounds of an accordion, and the 
clang of heavy hob-nailed shoes on the barn floor as 
the men amused themselves after their hard day’s 
work. Sounds of laughter and approving applause 
followed when the music ceased. 

In the old shrubbery one of the men was chopping 
wood, and the dairy maid was scouring out her tins 
and making them shine like silver. 

All these various sounds completed the music that 
can be heard around any English farm homestead 
on such a night. 

How beautiful are the twilight hours, and how 
fondly they linger in the remembrance of those 
who have come to reside in lands where the light 
vanishes into darkness at almost a moment’s 
warning ! 

Twilight is full of romance. It was made for 
lovers to woo in, and for all nature to prepare for 
repose. 

John Wilde sat in an old-fashioned chair in front 
of the house, and at his feet lay a couple of sheep 
dogs. They were not pure-bred collies, but good, 
hard-working dogs that could be trusted to round 
up the cows at milking time without being attended 
by any one. 

Farmer Wilde’s pipe evidently soothed his nerves, 
and he watched the smoke curl and wreathe about 
in a hundred fantastic shapes in the still night air. 

How often had he looked upon the familiar scene 
mapped out before him in the twilight’s gloom ! He 
had seen it covered with snow many inches deep, 
when all the country seemed buried amidst a white 


THE YEOMAN, 


II 


canopy. He had seen it in good seasons and bad, 
as his ancestors had done before him. He had 
tilled the land upon which he was born, and he 
loved the place as any true yeoman loves the land. 

Times were serious, however, now farming was 
not what it used to be, and rents had not been re- 
duced. It was a hard struggle to make both ends 
meet. The landlord reaped the benefit, while the 
tenant worked for a mere pittance. 

John Wilde, like many of his class, had been taught 
to reverence the ducal owners of the soil, but some- 
how or another as John became older he saw this in 
a different light. Perhaps his son had something to 
do with this. John Wilde had given his son the 
best education he could afford, and the lad had got 
on well. His young ideas had been formed in a 
far different school to those of his father. He had 
learnt that if it was right to respect property, so it 
was right for men of property to respect those who 
toiled for them. 

Tom Wilde, at the age of twenty-one, had ideas 
of his own that sometimes astonished his father. 
He had actually suggested to John Wilde that he 
should see the Duke in person, and let him know 
how matters stood as between the tenant farmers 
and the Duke’s agent. 

At first John Wilde had been horrified at the idea, 
but it gradually dawned upon him there might be 
something in it after all. He was considering the 
matter over as he sat in his chair this calm summer 
night. 

He had time after time asked the agent to make 


12 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


improvements to the homestead and outbuildings, 
but he had declined to do so. He had also asked 
for his rent to be lowered, and this had been refused 
in the most peremptory manner. 

John Wilde had an idea the Duke knew very little 
of his agent’s carrying on. He felt that although 
the Duke might be an austere man, he would also be 
just, but that rascal of an agent — well, he might just 
as well try to get blood out of a stone. 

The clatter of a horse’s hoofs far down on the 
road beneath, which now looked like a white streak 
winding in and out between the hedgerows, roused 
him from his reverie. 

That must be Tom,*' he thought to himself, the 
lad has not been long away. He’s made the most of 
his time at any rate.” 

The gate swung to with a bang as the trap passed 
through, and the horse forded the river to the oppo- 
site side and commenced to ascend the hill leading 
to the cottage. 

In a very short time a fine stalwart young man 
joined John Wilde, and said: 

“ Not been long, have I, father? A good twelve 
mile there and back to Ashbourne, and Bess' did it 
easily in a little over an hour, including stoppages 
and time for a glass of bitter at the ' George and 
Dragon.’ ” 

‘‘ Good lad, Tom,” said John Wilde. I hope 
you did not push the mare too hard, there was no 
hurry for that.” 

‘‘ She’s all right, father, never fear. I got the 
knives for the machine all right, so we can go on 


THE YEOMAN. 


13 


with the bottom close to-morrow morning first thing. 
What a grand night it is. Suppose we have the 
flagon out here, for I’m dry.” 

“ As you like, lad. Tell Janet to fill it up and 
bring it out.” 

In response to Tom’s halloa at the cottage door, 
Janet appeared, and in due course so did a large 
silver tankard brimming over with froth and looking 
like a regular stirrup-cup. 

‘‘ What have you been thinking about, father, 
while I have been away,” said Tom. 

‘‘ About the rent of the farm, the bad crops, and 
a heap of other things. I’m glad your poor mother 
is not alive to see Hawthorn Farm going to the dogs. 
It would have broken her heart, Tom.” 

‘‘ Not when she knew it was not our fault, father,” 
said Tom. We’ve got no chance here in these 
days. They grind us down and wring the last penny 
out of us. Good crops or bad, high prices or low, 
it’s all one with them ; they must have their rent.” 

‘‘ We have been on this farm for generations, 
Tom,” said John Wilde, and I should be sorry to 
leave the old house and the place I was reared on, 
but if something is not done I shall have to go. I 
am not going to ruin thy prospects, lad, by losing 
what bit I have saved here. We have only ourselves 
now, Tom, Mother’s gone, and James is gone, and 
you are all I have in the world now.” 

‘‘ Father,” said Tom, and he looked a manly 
affectionate son as he put his hand on John Wilde’s 
shoulder, never think of me in the matter. If it 
pleases you to remain on at the old place, then stay. 


14 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


We shall pull through somehow. For myself I don’t 
care a rap. Where you are, there will I be, father, 
and if you decide for Hawthorn Farm, so be it.” 

You're a good lad, Tom, a real good son to me, 
but ril stand it no longer. Hawthorn Farm has 
been in our family for three centuries. For nigh 
three hundred years have the Wildes worked and 
paid the rent of Hawthorn Farm to the Dukes. We 
have never owed a penny, and so long as I am here 
we never shall. But flesh and blood can stand it no 
longer. The cottage there is hardly fit to live in, 
and the out-houses are dangerous. I asked Ralton 
to assist us, but he said the Duke had declined to 
incur any further outlay this year.” 

‘‘ I believe that is not true, father,” said Tom. 

Ralton is the Duke's agent, and the more he grinds 
out- of people the better his master is pleased, but 
I do not believe the Duke knows how we tenants 
are treated.” 

‘‘ Likely not, Tom, likely not,” said John Wilde. 

‘‘ Do what I tell you, father. Go and see the 
Duke. If you can see him I am sure he will listen 
to you,” said Tom. 

And suppose he does not, Tom?” 

Then it is for you to decide, father.” 

‘‘ And I will decide, Tom. If he will net hear me, 
and listen to reason, we will go. We will leave 
Hawthorn Farm, and tear all its fond memories out 
of our hearts. We will do what you suggested, Tom ; 
seek a new country while we have some capital left, 
and begin a new life. I am not an old man yet, Tom, 
and we have no one here to stay behind for. We 


THE YEOMAN, 


IS 

are the last of a good old stock of British yeomen, 
and we bear a name that is untarnished/' 

‘‘ Well done, father. I feel a new man now. I 
almost hope the Duke will decide against you. I 
want to travel and see other countries. There are 
many lands, father, where you and I can find a rest- 
ing place and earn an honest living." 

“ No doubt, Tom," said his father, “ but you are 
younger than I, and it will not be such a wrench 
for you to leave the old place as it will for me." 

“ Then stay, father, and I will stay with you," said 
Tom. 

“ We will see what I can do about the farm. I 
will not submit to this injustice any longer. It is 
slavery, my lad, that's what it amounts to." 

John Wilde and his son sat talking for over an 
hour. 

Tom Wilde had a friend named Arthur Newman, 
who had been in Tasmania a couple of years, and 
had written to him several times imploring him to 
come out with his father, as the country was magnifi- 
cent, and there was plenty of scope for such men 
as the Wildes. Often had father and son talked the 
matter over, and now, on this calm summer night, 
with the scei:it of the new-mown hay around them, 
they went over the old ground again. Tom's heart 
was set on going out to join his friend. He would 
have gone with him but he could not leave his 
father behind to live a lonely life at Hawthorn 
Farm. 

It had come to this, that many of the landlords 
were driving the best men out of the country, men 


i6 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


that the colonies would be only too glad to receive 
with open arms. 

The Wildes of Hawthorn Farm were not the only 
old yeomen family that had determined to desert 
the land of their birth, and cast it off for a new place 
across the sea. 

John Wilde might have hesitated before he under- 
took such a step on his own responsibility, but the 
enthusiasm of his son was catching, and his ideas 
were moulded by the younger man's. 

When father and son parted for the night, it was 
with the mutual understanding that as soon 
as the harvest was in John Wilde should see the 
Duke if possible and place their grievances before 
him. Failing this, a last request was to be made to 
the agent, and if he declined to come to terms, then 
Hawthorn Farm should know them no more, and they 
would sail for a new land which gave more promise 
for them. 

Were they right in this decision? A thousand 
times yes, as the sequel will show. 

In the meantime we must wait and see how John 
Wilde fared with the Duke and his agent. 


HARD AS FLINT. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

HARD AS FLINT. 

The harvest was safely gathered, and the stacks 
had been thatched in good old-fashioned style. 
There were no hay barns at Hawthorn Farm, not 
even a mere shed to cover the crops when they were 
harvested. The Duke's agent considered ‘‘ thatch- 
ing " good enough for what he designated such a 
tumble-down place as Hawthorn Farm. 

John Wilde had made up his mind to see the 
Duke in person, and to place the matter before him. 
He thought he could get justice from the great man 
could he but see him. 

• The tenants living their peaceful, quiet lives knew 
little of the movements of the aristocracy. John 
Wilde, as he drove over to Raworth Park, the Duke's 
Derbyshire seat, fancied he would have very little 
difficulty in obtaining an audience. Fate willed it, 
however, that John Wilde should not see the Duke. 

When he arrived at the Lodge gates he was told 
it would be useless to proceed further, as the Duke 
was away on the Continent, and would not come to 
Raworth again until Christmas. 

'' Had my journey for nothing," thought Wilde 
as he turned his horse's head for the long homeward 
2 


i8 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


drive. Perhaps it is for the best. He might have 
refused to see me, and I could not have stood that.*' 

The day John Wilde drove over to see the Duke, 
Ralton the agent decided to pay a visit to Haw- 
thorn Farm and one or two homesteads adjoining. 
Ralton was an autocrat, and a man who considered 
himself a person of the highest importance as repre- 
sentative of the Duke. He looked upon tenant 
farmers as his natural enemies, born to cause him 
annoyance by their persistent demands for some- 
thing to be done.’* 

To the Duke Ralton was a very different man to 
what he was to the farmers. His Grace had confi- 
dence in him because he only saw one side of the 
man’s life. Busy with politics and the affairs of the 
nation, the Duke had little time to personally in- 
quire into the condition of his tenants. 

When a general election was approaching he be- 
came more condescending, and even went so far as 
to write to his principal tenantry stating his views 
and pointing out that such and such a candidate for 
political honors would, he thought, be worthy of 
their support. Of course he would not for a mo- 
ment suggest that they should vote against their politi- 
cal opinions, if they happened to have any, but he 
hinted that if Mr. So-and-so was not returned at the 
head of the poll he should be very much displeased. 

When Ralton arrived at Hawthorn Farm he found 
Tom Wilde busily engaged in breaking in a colt that 
appeared to have some good blood in it, and had 
every appearance of being a thoroughbred, or pretty 
near it. 


ITAJ^n AS FLINT, 


19 


If there was one thing more than another Ralton 
detested, it was to see a tenant farmer, or his son, 
better horsed than himself. He had no love for 
young Tom Wilde. Ralton prided himself upon his 
skill in the saddle, and in the hunting field, but he 
knew from experience that Tom Wilde could give 
him a long start when the hounds were in full cry. 
Many a time had Tom given him the go-by in the 
hunting field, and Ralton never forgot it. He was a 
bachelor, and not a bad-looking man, and yet he 
knew that Tom Wilde, old farmer Wilde’s son, could 
cut him out with the prettiest girl in the room at 
the Hunt Club Ball. 

As for Tom Wilde, he took a particular delight in 
cutting Ralton out when he got an opportunity. 
He disliked Ralton about as much as it was in his 
nature to dislike any man. 

Tom was so busy with the colt that he did not 
notice Ralton enter the yard. The young ’un was 
fresh and fiery and Tom had got his blood up. 
They were engaged in a battle royal as Ralton rode 
up. Tom did not abuse the colt, but he gave him 
to understand one of them must give in, and that 
one would not be his rider. 

After a ten-minutes’ tussle, it seemed to dawn 
upon the colt that he had met his match, and he 
gradually calmed down, blowing hard to get his 
breath after the struggle. 

It was then that Tom Wilde saw Ralton sitting 
on his horse watching him with no very friendly 
glance. 

It was a good deal more than the agent could have 


20 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


done to tame that colt, and he knew it, and he hated 
Tom for being a better horseman than himself. 

“ Halloa,'' said Tom, you here? " 

The tone was not at all respectful, and Ralton was 
accustomed to be treated with a good deal of defer- 
ence, due more to the position he held than himself. 
He resented the tone in which Tom spoke, although 
he did not show it. 

I have come to have a look round," he said, “ to 
see that the farm is all right, and that everything is 
in proper order." 

‘‘ Have you ? " said Tom. Then just cast your 
eyes round and you'll see the farm is very much out 
of order. I hope you have come to see what repairs 
are needed, and to give instructions for everything 
to be properly done up." 

Where's your father? " said Ralton. 

‘‘ Gone to see the Duke," said Tom, as he got off 
his horse. 

The audacity of the statement staggered Ralton, 
although he knew the Duke was away. The bare 
idea of a tenant farmer seeking a personal interview 
with his Grace was too much for his equanimity. 

And pray, what has your father had the presump- 
tion to go and see the Duke about ? " said Ralton. 

‘‘ Presumption," said Tom, “ well, I like that. 
Can’t one man go and see another when he has im- 
portant business to talk about. A Duke's a man, I 
suppose. Judging from your remarks he might be 
a god." 

‘‘ You are impertinent, sir," said Ralton. If 
your father has had the audacity to attempt to seek 


HARD AS FLINT. 


21 


an interview with his Grace, I might as well tell you 
he will not succeed. The Duke is on the Continent. 
I presume your father’s business is not important 
enough for him to follow him.” 

‘‘ Poor old dad had his journey for nothing,” 
thought Tom. Perhaps it is for the best.” 

Turning to Ralton, he said: 

‘‘ My father’s business is important, but he can 
bide his time. It is such men as you, Mr. Ralton, 
that make visits such as the one my father has 
undertaken necessary.” 

‘‘ I am the Duke’s agent,” commenced Ralton. 

“ More’s the pity,” retorted Tom. He’ll find out 
how much you are worth when he has lost all his 
best tenants, and half his farm-houses have tumbled 
down for lack of repairs.” 

‘‘ If your father has any complaints or requests to 
make, they must be made to me,” went on Ralton, 
ignoring the interruption. What business has he 
to go to the Duke behind my back? ” 

“ It’s no business of yours what my father does,” 
said Tom. ‘‘What is the use of asking you to do 
anything. You are as hard as flint. There’s no 
getting anything out of you.” 

“ When I am approached in a proper manner, and 
when I consider there is necessity for something to 
be done, then I give my orders accordingly. I am 
the best judge of what is wanted at Hawthorn Farm, 
or any other farm under my supervision,” said 
Ralton. 

“ Are you, indeed ? ” said Tom. “ I should have 
imagined the tenant of Hawthorn Farm, or any other 


22 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


farm, knew a good deal more about the wants of one 
than a casual visitor like yourself. However, I am 
busy, I cannot waste time talking. If I do not get 
on with my work we shall not be able to pay the rent, 
and that would trouble you more than anything 
else. If you want to see my father, call on your 
way back to-night, when he will be at home.’* 

And when I do see him, I shall tell him he ought 
to teach his son to keep a civil tongue in his head,” 
said Ralton. 

You can tell him what you like, Mr. Ralton,” 
said Tom. ^‘There’s no love lost between us. I 
may as well tell you to your face I much prefer your 
enmity to your friendship.” 

Tom Wilde got on the colt’s back again, and after 
another short tussle, walked him quietly out of the 
yard, leaving Ralton in a towering passion. 

‘‘ I’ll make them suffer for this,” thought Ralton. 

Hard as flint, am I, eh ? So be it. I will take 
good care you do not get a spark of concession out 
of the flint. I will see old Wilde to-night and give 
him a lecture he will not expect. Confound the old 
fool’s impudence. Gone to see the Duke and com- 
plain about me, I suppose. Luckily his Grace is 
away or he might have listened to him. He’s too 
soft-hearted. I’m the man to deal with these tenant 
farmers. All the beggars are good for is to pay their 
rent. The more I get out of them the better it is 
for me. I’ll let old Wilde see I am not a man to be 
trifled with. If he does not make that upstart of a 
son of his change his tone I will very soon have them 
out of Hawthorn Farm,” 


HARD AS FLINT. 


23 


John Wilde as he drove home thought of all he 
would have said to the Duke had he been able to 
meet him. He felt certain he should have succeeded 
in his request. There was nothing for it now but to 
tackle Ralton again, and he had very little hope of 
getting anything out of the agent. 

When he arrived home Tom told him of the agent's 
visit and of the conversation that passed between 
them. 

“ I felt inclined to knock him off his horse with 
the butt-end of my whip, father/' said Tom. “ He’s 
a brute, and if he comes to-night you give him a 
piece of your mind." 

“ I suppose the upshot of it all will be we shall 
have to leave the old home," said John Wilde, 
sadly. 

‘‘ Don't speak like that, father," said Tom. ‘‘If 
we have to leave the old place, better men than we 
have been driven out of the country through no 
fault of their own." 

“So they have, lad; so they have," said John 
Wilde. “ I'll not humble myself before the man, 
although I could have pleaded hard with the Duke." 

Ralton called Ut Hawthorn Farm that night, and 
when his horse had been put up, marched into the 
house with little ceremony. 

“ So you have returned from your visit to the 
Duke, Mr. Wilde," he said. “ I hope you found his 
Grace well." 

“ I found him out," said John Wilde. “ Had he 
been at home perhaps you would have altered your 
tone a bit in future/' 


24 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


‘‘ Indeed/' said Ralton. 

‘‘Yes, indeed, Mr. Ralton. I should have given 
his Grace a better idea of the real value of his agent 
than I expect he has at present." 

“ So you would have tried to make mischief," said 
Ralton, “ I thought as much. And do you suppose 
that is the way to get what you require from me.^" 

“ I do not require anything from you," said Wilde. 
“ I might have asked the Duke to do something for 
me. I shall never ask you again, that's certain." 

“Very glad to hear it. It will relieve me of the 
painful duty of declining your request," said Ralton. 

“ My father has too much of the man in him to 
ask favors from you," said Tom. “ We can do with- 
out such men as you, Mr. Ralton. Let me tell you 
it is a bad lookout for the Duke when he has such 
men as yourself to look after his interests, or neglect 
them, as the case may be." 

“You should teach your son to be more civil to 
his betters, Mr. Wilde," said Ralton. 

“And pray who do you consider his betters, Mr. 
Ralton ? " said John Wilde. 

“ Myself as the Duke's agent," said Ralton. “ As 
his Grace's representative I expect to be treated 
with deference by his tenantry." 

“ I consider my son a far better man than you are, 
Mr. Ralton," said John Wilde. “ Let me tell you 
our farm is one of the oldest in Derbyshire. We 
have lived on Hawthorn Farm for nigh on three 
hundred years. Our pedigree can be traced back as 
far as the Duke's, aye, and farther. It was our an- 
cestors helped to make the Dukes of . I tell 


J/A/eD AS FLINT, 


2S 

you, Mr. Ralton, there are nobler things than titles 
in this world. There are such things as honorable 
names and honest hearts. The yeomen of England, 
of whom I am proud to say I am a descendant, have 
done much to make this country what she is. We 
have tilled her soil, it is true, and we glory in it. 
Honest labor is an honor to any man. We have earned 
our bread by the work of our hands and the sweat of 
our brows. The motto of our family, Mr. Ralton, 
is ‘ Honor in Labor,’ and our house has faithfully 
kept it. I would scorn to ask a favor at your hands. 
I am one of England’s yeomen, and I would not 
exchange the title for a dukedom.” 

“Well said, father,” said Tom. “We can afford 
to look down upon such men as that,” and he pointed 
at Ralton. 

John Wilde’s words had no effect upon Ralton’s 
nature. The agent was a man of lower birth than 
the Wildes, and he had not their natural refinement 
of feeling. 

“You talk well, Mr. Wilde,” said Ralton; “but 
let me tell you it has no effect on me, it is mere 
bombast. For a man in your position it is absurd.” 

“ I consider my position far superior to yours,” 
said Wilde. “ I am no man’s servant. You are a 
hireling, and have to pander to the master who pays 
you. Your position is a degrading one compared 
with mine.” 

“ You had better be careful,” said Ralton, “ or the- 
Wildes will not have the chance of living at Haw- 
thorn Farm until the next generation.” 

“ And let me tell you, Mr. Ralton, that the Wildes 


26 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


do not want to live at Hawthorn Farm a day longer 
than they can possibly help. We are about to leave 
the farm — Wilde’s voice faltered a little, but he 
shook off the feeling and went on firmly — and you 
can take the usual notice and report to your master. 
I have stood enough of your insults and overbearing 
ways. Go to the Duke and tell him that his agent 
is driving the people off the land. Go and tell him 
that the Wildes of Hawthorn Farm would sooner 
starve than accept a favor from his Grace now. 
Matters have gone too far for that. It is our turn 
now, and I say to his Grace through you, his un- 
worthy agent, that the Wildes scorn to live under 
such a landlord. The land we have occupied for all 
these years will have to find other hands to till it. 
Perhaps in years to come you will live to regret the 
action you have taken in this matter.” 

“ One thing more,” went on John Wilde as he saw 
Ralton was about to speak. I will not go behind 
your back in anything I shall do ; before I leave I 
shall write to the Duke. Although he knows but 
little of me he respects and honors our name. I have 
reason to know that well. I shall tell his Grace of 
all that has passed this night. I shall tell him why 
the Wildes of Hawthorn Farm are leaving the home 
they have dwelt In under his ancestors for three hun- 
dred years. His Grace shall learn who and what his 
agent is, and how he carries on the work entrusted 
to him. When his Grace has read all I have to say, 
Mr. Ralton, I think he will demand an explanation 
from you, and there will be some things in my letter 
that you will find it hard to Justify. 


HARD AS FLINT. 


27 


Threats/* said Ralton, who was surprised at the 
action taken by John Wilde. You do well to use 
threats. I could expect no other line of conduct 
from such a man. I have no fear of what you may 
say to the Duke ; he knows me and trusts me, and 
will treat your accusations with the contempt they 
deserve.” 

That remains to be seen,” said Wilde. In the 
meantime this is my house, and I wish you to under- 
stand that your presence here is no longer desir- 
able.** 

Ralton turned white with rage. To be almost 
ordered out of the house by a tenant farmer was 
more than he could bear. 

I am the Duke*s agent, and I shall remain here 
until I have completed my business,” said Ralton. 

And I am the Duke’s tenant,” said Wilde, ‘‘and 
this house is mine. Again I say your presence 
here is unwelcome. Shall I put it plainer to you?” 

Ralton did not move. 

“Leave this house!” said John Wilde, and he 
looked so powerful, and threw such a glance of con- 
tempt upon Ralton, that he mechanically moved 
toward the door. 

“ If he had not gone, father, I should have thrown 
him out at the door in another moment,” said Tom. 

Ralton left the house, mounted his horse, and 
rode away, his heart full of bitterness and hatred 
towards the Wildes. 

“ If ever I can do them a bad turn, I will,” he 
muttered. “ Curse the whole breed of them. These 
farmers ar^ all alike,** 


28 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


It’s done, Tom,” said John Wilde, sadly, as he 
looked out of the window and saw the faint outline 
of the hills beyond. 

Brace up, father, you spoke out nobly. In the 
years to come you will never regret the step you 
have taken to-night.” 

‘‘ I hope not, Tom, my lad ; but it is a hard wrench 
to leave the old home.” 


THE DERWENT LIGHT, 


29 


CHAPTER III, 

THE DERWENT LIGHT. 

Hawthorn Farm was deserted. The old home- 
stead was empty, and the Wildes were on their way 
to a far distant land. 

Before sailing from England John Wilde had 
written to the Duke, and his Grace had been con- 
siderably surprised at the contents of the letter. 

He had put great faith in Ralton, and he knew 
John Wilde was not the man to make accusations 
unless they were true. As John Wilde said, Ralton 
found it hard to justify some of his actions, and 
although he still retained his position, he felt some- 
what insecure in it. At any moment he knew he 
might be replaced by a man more after the Duke’s 
heart. We shall see how Ralton fared later on, in 
the meantime we must follow the fortunes of John 
Wilde and his son. 

The sale at Hawthorn Farm had been a good one, 
and the stock realized more than Wilde expected. 
It was a severe wrench to him to see all the old 
things he loved so well brought to the hammer. He 
bore up cheerfully, however, and had the hearty 
sympathy of all the neighboring farmers. 

With the money he had saved and the proceeds 


30 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


of the sale, John Wilde possessed a considerable sum 
for a man in his position. He had always been fru- 
gal and hardworking, and his son Tom had never 
been an extravagant lad. 

Hawthorn Farm paid well enough until the bad 
times came, and John Wilde even then managed to 
hold his own, through his excellent farming. 

The Duke had lost a good tenant, and he knew it. 
His Grace had written a letter to John Wilde, which 
had considerably softened the farmer's grief at leav- 
ing the old place. John Wilde preserved that letter, 
for it showed he was held in respect and his family 
name was honored. 

Father and son had made up their minds to go to 
Tasmania. They had received glowing accounts of 
the colony from Arthur Newman, Tom’s friend, who 
said they would be sure to get on there. 

They sailed from London on the ship. Darling 
Downs, bound direct for Hobart. The voyage was 
uneventful. They had a good passage, and it 
tended to raise the somewhat drooping spirits of 
John Wilde. 

It was a beautiful moonlight night and very clear; 
the Darling Downs was eighty-five days out from 
London, and her skipper said they were rounding 
the coast of Tasmania. 

John Wilde and his son were chatting on deck 
about their future prospects, and their conversation 
was in a hopeful tone. 

There were very few passengers on board, and as 
only one of them figures in this story again, she will 
suffice to mention here. 


THE DERWENT LIGHT. 


31 


Agnes Murray was just a year younger than Tom 
Wilde ; she was a well educated girl, and came of a 
good old English family. Misfortune had, however, 
overtaken them, and she had to earn her living. She 
received an offer from some friends to go out to 
Hobart as governess, and gratefully accepted it. 

Agnes Murray was a girl of amiable disposition. 
She was not pretty, but had an intelligent face, which, 
when lighted up by her charming expression, was 
very pleasing. She was of medium height, and had 
a figure it would have been difficult to surpass. She 
moved with that easy grace which denoted the well- 
bred woman. She made very few friends among 
the passengers, but with the Wildes she had been 
familiar throughout the voyage. 

John Wilde was the sort of man she felt confi- 
dence in. He was a man who inspired such feelings, 
while Tom, his son, invariably treated her with 
marked deference and respect. 

Tom Wilde liked Agnes Murray the moment he 
saw her, and in a friendly way she liked him. There 
was no love-making or nonsense between them 
throughout the long voyage, but they became firm 
friends. 

• John Wilde was fond of Agnes Murray’s society ; 
she reminded him very much of the daughter he 
had lost, and he took a fatherly interest in her. 

There was a bond of unity between them. They 
were all seeking a new country to commence life, as 
it were, afresh, and the reason for their so doing was 
somewhat similar. 

Agnes Murray was one of a large family, and it 


32 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


was a relief to her parents when she was offered a 
good home, although so far away. 

When her father brought her on board the Darling 
Downs he had met John Wilde, and the two men 
inspired confidence in each other. Mr. Murray had 
even gone so far as to commend his daughter to 
Wilde's care, and the farmer promised to do what he 
could for her on the voyage. 

On board the Darling Downs was a young man 
named William Jackson, who paid such marked 
attention to Agnes Murray that she became annoyed 
at his persistency. At last it had become necessary 
for some one to interfere, and John Wilde had 
done so. 

Jackson, however, took very little notice of the hint 
given him to desist from paying attentions that were 
not acceptable to Agnes Murray. 

He had gone so far one night as to attempt to 
kiss her when he had taken more liquor than was 
good for him. 

Happily for Agnes Murray, Tom Wilde was on 
the scene at the time, and he quickly settled matters 
by knocking Jackson down. 

After this Jackson altered his line of conduct. 
He sulked and drank heavily, until the captain 
ordered his liquor to be stopped. This was the only 
unpleasant affair during the voyage of the Darling 
Downs, and she was now nearing her destination. 

We shall see the Derwent Light soon, I think, 
Mr. Wilde," said the mate, as he walked up to where 
the Wildes were seated. 

Where's that ? " said Tom. 


THE DERWENT LIGHT. 


33 

“ At the entrance to the river leading up to Ho- 
bart/' said the mate. 

Then we are not far away from our new home, 
Tom/' said John Wilde. 

The mate’s surmise proved correct, for before 
morning dawned they saw a faint light shining in 
the distance like a small fixed star. 

That’s the Derwent Light,” said the captain. 

We shall soon be at our journey’s end now. Mr. 
Wilde.” 

As the morning broke the light disappeared, and 
the Darling Downs was now bowling along with a 
fair wind past the rock-bound coast. 

It could not have been a more pleasant day, and it 
seemed a good augury for all, that nature had wel- 
comed them at her best. 

It is a lovely sight the entrance to the grand har- 
bor at Hobart, and so thought the voyagers as they 
stood on the deck of the Darling Downs. 

The ship sailed majestically past the Derwent 
Light standing on a small rocky islet, and then on 
either side of this magnificent sheet of water they 
could see the beautiful shores of the harbor. As 
the Darling Downs sailed up the river, the distant 
town of Hobart came into view, nestling at the foot 
of Mount Wellington, which shielded it from many 
a stormy blast, although in the winter the snow-clad 
summit sent down a cold breath on to the city. 

How peaceful the old town looked with its snug 
quay and old-fashioned houses, many of which could 
tell some heartrending tales of the early convict 
days when Tasmania was known as Van Dieman’s 
3 


34 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Land, the resort of convicts of the most desperate 
kind, and whose history of suffering and misery has 
been so graphically pictured by Marcus Clarke in 
his famous book For the Term of His Natural 
Life.” 

Who, to look at peaceful Hobart now, would ever 
imagine it could have been the scene of such horrors. 

There are old residents now who can spin tales of 
those bygone days, that make the blood curdle, and, 
as might be expected, their stories lose nothing in 
the telling. 

It was Sunday morning as the Darling Downs 
came within sight of the quay, and the church-bells 
could be heard faintly ringing in the distance. 
Everything was peaceful and quiet. 

The little suburb of Kangaroo Point, reached by 
the ferry-boats, lay on the right, and the road to 
Brown's River and the Shot Tower on the left as the 
ship came to her rest after her long voyage. Al- 
though it was Sunday morning there was a crowd 
of people on the quay to watch the arrival of the 
ship from the old country. 

The inhabitants of Hobart, even on week days, 
seem to have plenty of spare time on their hands, 
and their business, whatever that may be, can wait 
their pleasure. There is no bustle about the good 
people of Hobart. They take life easily, and look 
well on it. Hobart life is typical of the country life 
of the island. 

Tasmania has a wonderful climate. She may with 
safety be termed the sanatorium of the Australasian 
group. The island is a popular resort in summer 


THE DERWENT LIGHT. 


35 


for the inhabitants of Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, 
and Adelaide, who flock thither in hundreds to escape 
from the heat of those cities to the cooler tempera- 
ture of Hobart. 

It is a lovely island ; a veritable garden of Eden ; 
a land teeming with all the choicest fruits of the 
earth, which grow almost without tending. Around 
Hobart is one vast fruit garden amidst scenes of sur- 
passing loveliness, of which more anon. 

Her people are English to the backbone. The 
girls have the ruddy, healthy complexions of rural 
English lasses, and Hobart is renowned for the num- 
ber of comely members of the gentler sex. 

As John Wilde’s eyes roamed over the beautiful 
scene, he felt that they had found a haven of rest, 
and he was thankful they had left the old land for a 
country of such promise. 

John Wilde and his son were the sort of people 
not only Tasmania, but the whole of Australia, 
wanted, and would welcome with open arms. 

Men who came to till the land, not swell the 
population of the city. Men who meant to work 
hard and reap the benefit which a bounteous nature 
had bestowed upon them. 

The crowd on the quay waved a welcome to those 
on board the ship, which was heartily responded to. 

“ Seem glad to see fresh arrivals, at any rate,” 
said John Wilde. 

They do, father,” replied Tom. It’s like land- 
ing among old friends. I should not wonder if 
Arthur Newman is amongst them, for he knows we 
are coming out in this ship.” 


3 ^ 


ONLY A COMMONEJ^, 


I hope there will be some one to meet me,” said 
Agnes Murray. ‘‘ I shall feel quite lost when I leave 
the good old ship.” 

So we all shall,” said Tom. We have had a 
comfortable home on the Darling Downs, and I hope 
we shall all find as good a one on shore.” 

‘‘ If there’s no one to meet you,” said John Wilde, 
you had better come to a hotel with us, that is if 
you do not care to remain on the ship until your 
friends come.” 

‘Wou are very good,” said Agnes. If there is no 
one here, I will gladly accept your offer.” 

In a very short time the Darling Downs was 
moored alongside the wharf, which, as in Sydney, 
appeared to form part of the city. Such natural 
harbors are a vast advantage to a town, and the 
largest steamers afloat can be moored at the Hobart 
wharves without the least trouble, the water being 
deep and free from all obstructions. 

No sooner was the gangway down than there was 
a rush on board of friends of the passengers, and the 
scene was animated on deck as hearty greetings were 
exchanged. 

A tall, fine-looking man about sixty years of age 
was talking to the captain, who brought him up to 
Agnes Murray. 

I am afraid you will have forgotten me. Miss 
Murray,” he said, as he glanced approvingly at the 
lady-like form of Agnes. ‘‘ You were quite a child 
when we left England. I am William Rath, a very 
old friend of your father’s, and glad I am you have 
come out to us. I am sure you will receive a hearty 


THE DER WENT LIGHT, 3 7 

welcome at The Mount, where they are all eagerly 
expecting you.” 

Agnes was at once favorably impressed with Mr. 
Rath, and sensibly affected at the heartiness of his 
greeting, which she knew was far different to the 
reception she would have been awarded on entering 
upon her duties as a governess in England. 

“ You are very kind, Mr. Rath,” she replied ; 

and it is good of you to come and meet me, more 
especially as it is Sunday, and you must like to be 
at home on that day. ” 

“Our Sundays, I am afraid, are not quite so 
strictly observed as they are in England,” said Mr. 
Rath ; “ and I have always .plenty of spare time to 
devote to my home, I am glad to say.” 

Agnes inquired after Mrs. Rath and her future 
charges. 

“ Glad to see you have found a friend. Miss Mur- 
ray,” said John Wilde. “We are going ashore, so 
will say good-bye.” 

“ I hope it will not be good-bye, Mr. Wilde,” said 
Agnes. “ I should be sorry not to see you and Tom 
— I mean your son — again. Let me introduce you 
to Mr. Rath.” 

The two men shook hands, a real hearty shake, 
which at once put the men on terms almost of friend- 
ship. 

“ So you have come out to settle here, Mr. Wilde,” 
said William Rath. 

“Such is our intention,” said John, “ and we shall 
look out for a suitable place not far from Hobart. 
My son and I intend to make Tasmania our future 


38 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


home. We have been driven from one home, and 
intend to make another.” 

‘‘Well said,” replied Rath, “ and if I can assist 
you I shall be only too glad. There’s plenty of 
scope for men of your stamp out here. I wish we 
had a few hundreds like you,” thought Rath to him- 
self, as he glanced at John Wilde’s burly form and 
honest face, tanned with exposure to the sun during 
the voyage. 

“ It makes a man feel at home to be greeted like 
this,” said John Wilde. “Here, Tom, this is Mr. 
Rath, the gentleman into whose family Miss Murray 
is going as governess.” 

“ Glad to see you,” said Tom, heartily, as he shook 
hands, and Rath thought : 

“ Like father, like son. A grand pair of Britishers, 
and no mistake.” 

“You must come and see us at The Mount,” said 
Rath. “ I am sure friends of Miss Murray will be 
welcome there, and on your own account, too. I 
shall be glad to have a chat over old times with you, 
for I am a Derbyshire man myself.” 

“ Right glad to hear it,” said John Wilde. “ May- 
be we shall know some of your people. Anyway, 
we shall be only too glad to accept your invitation 
when it is convenient to you.” 

When Miss Murray and Mr. Rath had left the 
ship John Wilde and his son went ashore. Tom was 
rather disappointed that Arthur Newman had not 
come to meet them, but his father said he probably 
did not know the ship would arrive on that day. 

They went to the Oriental Hotel, and after a good 


THE DERWENT LIGHT 


39 


dinner, which they thoroughly relished after so many 
weeks of ship’s cooking, they went out for a stroll. 

A curious, quaint old town they found Hobart, 
not at all unlike a provincial town in England of the 
same size. 

On Sunday it was very quiet, and there were very 
little signs of bustle or life. The old hackney car- 
riages amused Tom, who said they reminded him of 
a trip to Dovedale from Ashbourne in one of the 
Green Man turn-outs. 

As they sat chatting in the cool night air on. their 
return to the Oriental, they realized they were on the 
threshold of a new life. John Wilde thought he had 
commenced rather late in life, but his son Tom soon 
talked him out of that idea, and his youthful flow of 
spirits roused his father, and made him feel young 
again. 

Agnes Murray, as she looked out of her bedroom 
window at the stars shining above, thanked her 
Maker that she had been safely brought to her new 
home. 

Her thoughts wandered back and went over the 
voyage again, and she felt a pleasant sensation as 
she recalled how Tom Wilde had become her firm 
friend, and also his father, whom she had learned 
almost to love as her own parent. 

Thousands of miles away Hugh Ralton, now no 
longer the Duke’s agent, was preparing for a long 
voyage. He had been given to understand it would 
be better for him if he left the country, and he knew 
he had no option in the matter. He had been found 
out while the Darling Downs was ploughing her way 


40 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


to Hobart, and his dismissal from his post had been 
prompt. 

Where he should go to he hardly knew yet, but 
that he must go somewhere out of the country, and 
quickly, he knew full well. 

Hugh Ralton had always been a bad man, and 
recent events had not tended to improve his nature. 


THE NEW LIFE, 


41 


CHAPTER IV. • 

THE NEW LIFE. 

John Wilde and his son were not the men to let 
grass grow under their feet, and in a couple of years 
they were firmly established in the new land they 
had made their home, and would have been taken 
for old colonists by a casual visitor. 

William Rath, who owned a large sheep station, 
had put them into the right way of securing a farm 
such as they desired, and it was mainly through his 
influence they succeeded in purchasing a valuable 
property near New Norfolk for a moderate sum. 

New Norfolk is a delightful place on the river 
Derwent, and the scenery is beautiful. Well-tilled 
farms abound here, and also luxurious orchards, 
and the hop-gardens remind one forcibly of Kent. 
Mountainous scenery there is too, and when John 
Wilde and his son saw the farm Mr. Rath had se- 
cured for them they almost fancied they were once 
more located amidst the Derbyshire Hills, and the 
famous peak county. 

Rydal Farm, such was the name of the farm they 
purchased, was about six hundred acres in extent, 
comprising pasture and arable land, with a large 
orchard and a good-sized hop-garden. 


42 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


It was a luxurious spot to live in, and so they dis- 
covered during the two years they had been there. 
The New Norfolk folks quickly found the Wildes 
knew how to farm, and were not indolent, but hard 
workers. 

They were not content to sit smoking and idling 
their time away on the veranda at Rydal, like many 
of their neighbors, leaving the farm to almost take 
care of itself. 

John Wilde was a remarkably good judge of cattle 
and sheep, and he commenced by purchasing the 
best his means would allow him, and already he was 
making money. 

Tom Wilde always preferred horses to anything 
else, and his father thought it better to let him have 
his own way in this, and the consequence was Tom 
had selected some brood mares which he fancied 
would throw excellent half-breds, for which there 
was always a ready market. 

Tom made what he called a bargain one day when 
he was in Hobart. 

He met a well-known trainer named Jos Kelly, 
who lived at Glenorchy, a neat little village about 
eight miles from Hobart, and handy to the Elwick 
race-course, where the Tasmanian Race Club hold 
their meetings. 

He met Kelly accidentally at the Oriental Hotel, 
and the trainer had taken a fancy to Tom. Most 
people did. 

Tom Wilde soon found Jos Kelly was a kindred 
soul as regards his love for horses, and when he heard 
Tom was buying a few useful brood mares, he at 


THE NEW LIFE. 


43 


once saw a chance of making a deal which would 
probably terminate to their mutual advantage. 

It was about a month after the Wildes had settled 
at Rydal Farm that Tom met Kelly. 

“ I have got a mare at my place I think would 
suit you,” said Kelly. If you like to have a look 
at her I will drive you out.” 

Tom was nothing loth, so Kelly soon had his horse 
put in the trap, and they were quickly bowling along 
the well-kept road on their way to Glenorchy. 

How English the hedgerows and the scene seemed 
to Tom Wilde, and it made his heart leap with de- 
light as he inhaled the pure air and thought how he 
and his father were now free from such pests as 
ducal agents, and were their own landlords. 

Here we are,” said Kelly, as they drew up at a 
nice compact cottage built on one flat, and the 
stables in a compact three-quarter square at the 
back. 

My wife is away from home, so you will have to 
take pot luck,” he said to Tom. 

“ Tm used to that,” said Tom. “ Nothing like it. 
It makes you feel at home at once.” 

“ We'll have a glass of Cascade ale,” said Kelly, 
“ and then I will show you the mare.” 

Tom heartily enjoyed the foaming glass of ale, 
brewed at the celebrated Cascade Brewery at the 
foot of Mount Wellington. 

'' That's her,” said Kelly, as he flung open a horse- 
box door. 

Tom went in and saw a coal black mare about 15.3 
hands high, and with immense quarters and a splen- 


44 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


did back and loins. She looked a thoroughbred 
every inch of her. . 

Kelly eyed Tom critically as he examined the 
mare, and his eyes sparkled as he saw how she was 
appreciated. 

“ Knows a bit about horses, at any rate,'’ thought 
Jos. He’s not all talk. He knows as much about 
a mare of this class as the best of them, I reckon.” 

Tom made a minute examination of the mare, and 
then turning to Kelly, said : 

Thoroughbred, I should say. She’s a fine mare» 
Mr. Kelly. I’m afraid she’s a cut above my figure.” 

Not she,” said Kelly. Do you like her ? ” 

“ Yes, I never beat about the bush in these mat- 
ters,” said Tom ; ^‘if I did not like her I would say 
so. She’s the best-looking mare I have seen since I 
have been in the colony ; but, of course, that is not 
long,” he said, with a laugh. 

‘‘You’ll not find a better mare anywhere,” said 
Kelly ; “ but she’s no use to me in my line. She 
has one great fault.” 

“ Has she?” said Tom ; “ then it’s her temper. I’ll 
swear. It can’t be her breeding that’s wrong.” 

“ But that’s just what it is,” said Kelly. 

“ Do you mean to tell me a mare like that has not 
got a clean pedigree,” said Tom ; “why, it’s sticking 
out all over her.” 

“ She’s got no pedigree at all,” said Jos to the as- 
tonished Tom. “That’s her great fault. If she 
could speak, I’ll bet she could enlighten us consider- 
ably on that point.” 

“ Do you mean to say you don’t know how she 


THE NEW LIFE. 


45 

IS bred, either on the sire or dam’s side ? ” said 
Tom. 

‘‘Precisely,” said Jos. “I have not the faintest 
idea how she is bred. That she is a thoroughbred, 
however, I have no doubt.” 

“What a curious thing,” said Tom. “She’s in 
foal, too.” 

“ Yes, she is,” said Jos. 

“ A mare like that ought to throw something out 
of the common,” said Tom. 

“ That’s what I have been thinking,” said Jos. 
“ Here, Larry, bring her out.” 

The rough-looking specimen of humanity Jos had 
addressed as Larry sidled up to the mare, put a 
halter on her, and led her out into the yard. 

“ She’s a beauty,” said Tom. “ I should like to 
buy her immensely. What’s her figure? ” 

“ Come inside, and we will have a chat about that,” 
said Jos ; “ and I’ll tell you how she came into my 
possession.” 

They went into Kelly’s comfortable sitting-room 
and the trainer said : 

“ It’s rather a curious story how I came into pos- 
session of that mare, Mr Wilde.” 

“ So I should imagine,” said Tom. “ I’m all im- 
patience to hear it.” 

“ It was this way,” commenced Jos Kelly. “ I 
had been training four or five horses for a young 
fellow whose name I need not mention, and like 
many another such a man, he plunged too heavily, 
and got into difficulties. He would not be advised 
by me when to back his horses and when to let the 


46 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


public back 'em. He always had an idea his horses 
could win whenever he wanted, and thought I should 
be able to get them fit at a week’s notice. He was 
not a bad judge of a horse either, which made his con- 
duct more strange. 

About a couple of months ago the crash came. 
He plunged heavily on a horse he had called Python 
for the Hobart Cup, and lost. I advised him not 
to back Python, as the horse was not fit, but he 
would have his own way. I had no idea he had 
gambled away the bulk of his money, for his father 
had left him well off. However, he managed to 
settle somehow, and then he came to me and told me 
like a man how matters stood with him. I was sorry 
in more senses than one, for he owed me a lot of 
money and I had reckoned upon getting it whenever 
I wanted it. I built this new place on the strength of 
it, and so you may imagine it was a bit of a shock to 
me. I shall not get over it for another twelve 
months, but I shall manage to weather the storm 
somehow. He asked me if I would take a couple 
of his horses as part payment, and he would sell the 
others to raise some money to make a fresh start. 
I agreed to take Python and a hurdle horse called 
Ringer, and to let him sell the others. He was 
pleased at this, and after a few moments’ thought, 
said : I have got a mare, Kelly, at my stables, and 
she seems to me to be thoroughbred. You can have 
her if you like. I bought her from a Sydney man 
who came over with a couple of racehorses. He did 
not know how she was bred, or anything about her, 


THE NEW LIFE. 


47 

and there was no brand on her. I liked the look of 
her, and I gave him £40 for her.’' 

What ! ” exclaimed Tom, astonished, Do you 
mean to tell me he got a mare like that for £40.'' 

You may well be surprised,” said Jos, but he 
did, and that’s what puzzles me. I saw the mare, 
and she struck me as a beauty, as I see she has done 
yourself. I asked him more questions about the 
mare than I ever asked a man in my life about any 
animal. If I had not known him so well I should 
have said ” — he hesitated. 

Said what ? ” asked Tom. 

‘‘ Well, as the police say, he had received her, 
well knowing her to have been stolen.” 

Whew ! ” said Tom, this is interesting. She’s 
a mare with a history, but minus a pedigree.” 

“ You’ve hit it,” said Jos. That’s just what she 
is, Mr. Wilde. To continue my story : I saw he 
knew nothing about the mare, nor did he guess her 
real value. He had merely bought her for her good 
looks. He paid the man his £40, and never saw the 
fellow again.” 

“ ‘ Did you see the couple of race-horses he brought 
over?’ I asked him. 

“ ‘ No,’ he replied, ‘ but the fellow said he had 
brought a couple over.’ 

“ I said no more, but I thought a lot, and made 
inquiries. It turned out as I expected. The fellow 
did not bring a couple of racehorses over. He only 
brought this mare. I have advertised in the Sydney 
papers about her, giving a description, but have re- 
ceived no inquiries. It is a hundred to one the fellow 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


stole her from some big farm where the mares are 
allowed to run a bit wild. Perhaps she is a mare 
that got astray, and while away came across some 
blood horse enjoying a few months’ spell after racing. 
You can see she is in foal, or if she is not I am much 
mistaken.” 

What a curious history for such a good-looking 
mare to have,” said Tom. 

^^Yes, it is. Would you like her?” said Jos 
Kelly. 

Rather,” said Tom. Of course, if any one made 
a bona-fide claim for her I would give her up.” 

“ I don’t fancy any one will, but there is no telling,” 
said Jos. ‘‘ Of course, such a thing might happen, 
and if it did we could easily settle matters between 
us.” 

What do you want for her ? ” asked Tom. 

We both think she is in foal,” said Jos. “ Now, 
I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You take the mare; I 
have no spare room for her here. If she has a foal, 
and he looks a likely customer. I’ll take him in hand 
and train him, pedigree or no pedigree. You can 
keep the mare at your farm, and we will share and 
share alike. If the youngster turns out well we will 
halve his winnings if he has the luck to land a race. 
You can own half share of mare and foal for her 
keep.” 

I am quite willing to do that,” said Tom. 

They are liberal terms, Mr. Kelly. They will suit 
me admirably.” 

'' And me, too,” said Kelly, '' so you may send 
for the mare as soon as you like.” 


THE NEW LIFE. 


49 


What’s her name ? ” said Tom. 

She has none that I know of,” said Jos. 

“ Then we shall have to give her one,” said Tom. 

Suppose we call her Abduction. She’s evidently 
been abducted from somewhere.” 

That will do splendidly,” said Kelly. ‘‘ ‘ Messrs. 
Wilde and Kelly’s black mare, Abduction, pedigree 
unknown ; ’ how will that sound ? ” 

Capital,” said Tom. Could not be better.” 

In due time Abduction foaled at Rydal Farm, and 
at the time this chapter opens the colt was about 
eighteen months old, and a real beauty. 

When Abduction was first brought to Rydal old 
John Wilde had hardly liked the idea of Tom being 
mixed up in what he called such a transaction,” 
but, as usual, he thought his son was old enough to 
know what he was about. 

Jos Kelly was in raptures over the colt, and had 
taken him in hand at his training quarters at Glen- 
orchy. 

We’ve got something out of the common here, 
I reckon,” said Kelly to Tom. He’s a fine colt, 
and no mistake. You’ve kept your part of the bar- 
gain, and reared him well. I’ll try and keep mine 
and win a race or two with him. What a shock it 
would be for the boys if a colt, pedigree unknown, 
managed to win the Hobart Cup ; ” and Kelly 
chuckled at the bare idea of such a thing. 

That is flying a bit high, is it not ? ” said John 
Wilde. 

“ No,” said Kelly, not with a colt like that. 
Come, Mr. Wilde, your son named the mare, you 

4 


50 


ONL Y A COMMONER. 


name the colt ; that’s fair. You’ll have more interest 
in him then.” 

John Wilde thought for a few moments, and then 
said : 

Call him Mystery.” 

''Bravo, father!” said Tom. "That is the best 
name he could have.” 

So Mystery went into Kelly’s stable to be put 
through his paces, and great things were expected 
of him. Whether these expectations were realized 
time will show. 


AT THE MOUNT 


51 


CHAPTER V. 

AT THE MOUNT. 

Hugh Ralton soon got into trouble after the 
Wildes left Hawthorn Farm. Like many more 
men of his class he was found out at last, and the 
Duke discovered that instead of increasing in value, 
his vast property had gradually depreciated, owing 
to the mismanagement of his agent. 

But this was not all. Hugh Ralton had proved 
dishonest. He had appropriated money to his own 
use that was not his, and he had collected rents 
which he had never accounted for. 

There was a stormy scene between the Duke and 
his agent, and Ralton was given the option of leav- 
ing the country or of being prosecuted. 

He put all his misfortunes, as he called them, 
down to the letter written by John Wilde, and so 
mean and despicable was the man’s nature he deter- 
mined to do what he could to injure the farmer, 
even if he had to go to the colonies to accomplish 
this end. 

Ralton had acquired a considerable amount of 
money, dishonestly, but he was a man who did not 
care how he obtained money so long as he gained 
possession of it. 


52 


ONLY ^ COMMONER. 


The agent was, moreover, a licentious man, and 
it was said more than one of the tenant farmers* 
daughters rued the day they turned an attentive ear 
to his blandishments. 

In country districts the daughters of some of the 
farmers do not see many new faces. They are apt 
to become somewhat tired of the monotony of their 
lives. The glimpses they get of that other life led 
by the people in the world at the annual county 
ball, sets them longing to taste the sweets of town 
life. 

Hugh Ralton was a man to captivate such girls. 
He first met them at the county ball, where he singled 
the prettiest girls out for special attention, danced 
with them, and chatted in quiet nooks. 

Upon the strength of such meetings he formed 
intimacies which the parents often regretted. 

There was one girl, Ada Lawton, daughter of one 
of the Duke’s tenants, that Ralton had been very 
partial to. 

She was a fine, handsome, dashing girl, and had 
been educated at a fashionable ladies* college in Lon- 
don. She could ride well to hounds, play the piano, 
sing creditably, and was altogether unfitted by her 
education to lead the lonesome life with her father, 
William Lawton, at Red Bank. 

Her mother was dead, and Ada Lawton was an 
only child. Her father doted upon her, and thought 
nothing too good for her. He saw nothing wrong 
in such a man as Hugh Ralton admiring his girl. 
He considered her the equal of Ralton any day. 

Ada Lawton was at this time by no means a strong- 


AT THE MOUNT 


53 


minded girl. She fell in love with Hugh Ralton, 
and he was not slow to find it out. He took advan- 
tage of this to accomplish his own base ends. 

He succeeded as such a man often succeeds, and 
Ada Lawton tasted of the bitter fruits of sin. 

Luckily for her, nothing happened to prevent her 
hiding her secret in her own bosom, but she was a 
proud girl at heart, and the hold Hugh Ralton had 
obtained over her embittered her life. 

In a moment of folly she had yielded to this man, 
but he had not obtained the complete conquest of 
Ada Lawton. 

She was wise enough now, and she knew she had 
had a lucky escape. One thing she was determined 
in, and that was Hugh Ralton should marry her. 
He was equally determined to do nothing of the sort. 

For some time he avoided giving her a straight- 
forward answer to the questions she put to him. 

He was angry because he found he had no further 
power over the girl. • 

No, Hugh,” she had said to him one day, ‘‘you 
have tricked me once, you will never do so again. If 
you are a gentleman you will marry me, and so make 
of me an honest woman once more.” 

When Hugh Ralton received his dismissal as the 
Duke’s agent, Ada Lawton wondered what he would 
do and where he would go. He had not the slightest 
intention of letting her know his plans. He meant 
to leave the country and also leave Ada Lawton, 
who had become objectionable to him, by reason of 
her persistent requests for him to marry her. 

He made all his preparations stealthily, and the 


54 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


week before he sailed for Sydney, New South 
Wales, he had paid a visit to Red Bank and promised 
Ada he would grant her request. 

She discovered his perfidy about a fortnight after 
he sailed. 

Ada Lawton was not the sort of girl to sit 
down and cry her eyes out over the departure of 
Hugh Ralton. His going away affected her in a 
very different manner. She had an angry light in 
her eyes when her father told her the news. Her 
hands clinched and she laughed a harsh bitter laugh. 
All the womanliness seemed to go out of her face 
and it became hard and cruel. 

Gone to Australia has he, father? Well, he has 
not taken my heart with him. Hugh Ralton was an 
agreeable companion to while away an hour or two 
with, but he was not the sort of man to make a good 
husband.^’ 

“ Tm glad you were not fond of him, Ada,” said 
her father. I fancied he was a favorite of yours. 
I am very glad it is not so.” 

Ada Lawton said very little about the departure 
of Hugh Ralton, but she thought over it. 

She meant to have her revenge on this man, who 
had embittered her life. He should pay dearly for 
the deception he had practiced upon her. As yet 
she hardly knew what course to adopt in regard 
to him. In the mean time she flirted with the men 
and‘^ carried on disgracefully,” so said all the county 
dames, whose daughters were not half so aristocratic- 
looking as Ada Lawton. 

One man had wronged her, and she meant to be 


AT THE MOUNT. 55 

revenged not only upon him but upon the sex 
generally. 

The Christmas after Hugh Ralton left England, 
old William Lawton met with a severe accident 
which ultimately ended in his death. His horse fell 
on the slippery frost-bound road and threw him 
heavily out of his gig. 

Ada Lawton was a devoted nurse to her father 
during the six weeks he hovered between life and 
death, but the doctor told her from the first there was 
no hope. 

William Lawton died and was buried in the old 
village churchyard by the side of his wife. He left 
all the ready money he had, amounting to some six 
or seven thousand pounds to Ada, and the farm 
stock ran well into another thousand. 

So about eight or nine months after Hugh Ralton 
had left England, Ada Lawton found herself alone 
in the world with enough money to keep herself 
comfortably, but inexpensively. 

She could have married well, and was once tempted 
to do so, but the thought of what she had been to 
Hugh Ralton held her back. Ada Lawton was an 
honorable girl, if rather wayward. She would not 
marry a man and deceive him, and she preferred to 
remain single rather than tell the bitter truth. 

Ada went on the Continent for a while attended 
by her maid, a girl who had been at Red Bank ever 
since she was quite a child. She was restless and 
felt a keen desire to travel. The hurry from one 
place to another distracted her thoughts. Ne\Y 
scenes and fresh faces pleased her. 


56 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


She remained in Naples for a month, and one 
morning as she stood on the quay watching the 
motley crowd of Neapolitans and men of almost all 
nationalities in a variety of costumes hurrying to 
and fro, a large vessel steamed into the beautiful 
bay. 

An Orient liner bound for Australia,” was the 
answer to her question as to where the steamer was 
bound for. 

The thought came into her head, Why should 
I not go out to Australia in one of these boats. I 
might meet Hugh Ralton there, and then ” 

Her eyes flashed as she muttered the last two 
words, and she looked dangerous. It was evident 
Hugh Ralton would have to look to himself if he 
crossed Ada Lawton's path again. 

All that night the sight of the large Orient 
steamer haunted her, and she was restless and dis- 
turbed. 

H ugh Ralton, as he walked under the avenue of 
fig trees in Hyde Park, Sydney, gave not a thought 
to Ada Lawton. He imagined he had cast her off 
with other unpleasant memories when he left Eng- 
land. 

He had obtained a lucrative post as manager on a 
station where horse-breeding was carried on to a 
considerable extent. His early training here stood 
him in good stead, and he soon gained the confidence 
of his employer, George Andrews. He was not, 
however, liked by the men on the station, who re- 
sented his overbearing manner. Ralton was not the 
man to care whether he had the good-will of the 


AT THE MOUNT 


57 


men under him or not. All he wanted was to gain 
the confidence of George Andrews, and in this he 
succeeded. 

He had been requested by Andrews to go to Ho- 
bart on particular business about some stud sheep, 
and, as fate would have it, the business was with 
William Rath, of The Mount. 

Ever since they landed in Hobart, the Wildes had 
been frequent visitors at The Mount, and Tom Wilde 
had seen a good deal of Agnes Murray. They were 
very much attached to each other, but as yet their 
friendship had not developed into any warmer feel- 
ing, and both were heart-free. 

Mrs. Rath was William Rath’s second wife, and 
she had no children, Agnes Murray being engaged 
as governess to the four children by Rath’s first 
wife. 

Mrs. Rath was young and good-looking, and her 
marriage with William Rath had been more one of 
convenience, on her side, than of love. He was, 
however, very fond of his wife, and did all in his 
power to make her life happy. 

Violet Rath did not take much interest in her 
step-children, and they were left almost entirely to 
the care of Agnes Murray. They could not have 
been in better hands. 

Agnes Murray and Violet Rath were the direct 
opposites of each other. The former was a quiet, 
conscientious girl, who had been well brought up, 
and who knew her duty in life. 

Mrs. Rath was a woman fond of pleasure and ad- 
miration, and with a somewhat lax conscience as re- 


58 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


gards the strictness of matrimonial ties. She enjoyed 
a little harmless flirtation, as she styled it, and 
often had admirers around her. She was discreet, 
however, and so far scandal had not touched her. 

William Rath was not a jealous husband, and he 
trusted his wife implicitly. 

Agnes Murray had become necessary to William 
Rath. She not only taught his children, but she 
assisted him with his business affairs. He had a 
very high opinion of her, and Mrs. Rath knew it, 
and in order to propitiate her husband she was out- 
wardly kind and considerate to Agnes. For all that, 
Agnes Murray felt Mrs. Rath was no friend of hers, 
and in reality she was not. She disliked her for the 
influence she had over her husband, and also because 
the children regarded her with more motherly affec- 
tion than herself. This was entirely her own fault, 
but she would not own to it. 

Another cause of annoyance to her was that Tom 
Wilde paid far more attention to Agnes Murray than 
he did to herself. 

Tom Wilde was a good-looking fellow, and had 
become a popular favorite both at New Norfolk and 
in Hobart. Mrs. Rath liked him, but she saw Tom 
Wilde cared very little for her society, although he 
was always scrupulously polite to her. It piqued 
her vanity to think she could not captivate Tom as 
she did other men. 

The advent of such a man as Hugh Ralton at The 
Mount was likely to bring about complications that 
the persons most interested little dreamt of. 

The Wildes were so far ignorant of Ralton's arrival 


AT THE MOUNT. 


59 


in the colonies. They had well-nigh forgotten him. 
He had passed out of their lives, and only an un- 
pleasant memory occasionally reminded them of 
him. 

We can never tell what fate has in store for us. 
Our destinies, for which we are to a certain extent 
responsible, are moulded by a greater power than 
our own. 

So far matters had progressed smoothly in William 
Rath’s household, at The Mount. A disturbing ele- 
ment was to.be introduced there in the shape of 
Hugh Ralton. 


6o 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


CHAPTER VI. 

MYSTERY SHOWS PACE. 

Come home with me to-night/’ said Jos Kelly 
one day when he met Tom Wilde in Hobart, ‘'and 
we will give Mystery a spin in the morning at 
Elwick.” 

" Not a bad idea,” said Tom. " I will send a wire 
to Rydal to let them know I am not coming home.” 

Kelly had formed an exalted opinion of the capa- 
bilities of Mystery, but he had not tried him yet, 
and he thought it would be a good idea for Tom to 
be present at the preliminary spin. 

He had a better opinion of the colt than Tom, be- 
cause he had seen a good deal more of him. 

Tom Wilde drove home with the trainer and slept 
the night at Glenorchy. 

They were up early in the morning, and mounted 
on a couple of sturdy ponies, accompanied the horses 
and lads to Elwick. 

It was a beautiful morning and the sun had not 
yet become powerful enough to banish the dew from 
the grass. 

The birds were twittering in the hedgerows and 
the farmers were preparing for milking time, and 
Tom thought what a very English scene it was in 
this Tasmanian island. 


MYSTERY S flows PACE. 


6i 


It was just the sort of thing he relished ; riding 
out in the fresh air of the early morning to see the 
horses do their gallops. 

Many a time had he taken his pet hunter for a 
breather over some of the undulating Hawthorn 
Farm meadows in the old land. 

“You’re a quiet companion this morning,” said 
Kelly. 

“ Thinking of old times,” said Tom. “ This 
scene reminds me very much of the old place at 
home.” 

“You’re much better off here,” said Kelly. 

“ No doubt about it,” replied Tom. “ No grind- 
ing upstart agents here to bother a fellow. We’ve 
got a chance of getting what we earn, at any rate. 
The money we make does not go into the pockets 
of landlords who care very little about us.” 

“ It’s a long time since I had a landlord,” said 
Kelly. “When I had one he didn’t get much out 
of me,” he added, with a laugh. 

At this moment Mystery became skittish, and 
made a desperate effort to get rid of the rider on his 
back. The lad, however, was not easily unseated, 
and Tom could not help crying out : “ Well done, 
youngster,” as the colt settled down again. 

“ He’s a good rider for a little chap,” said Tom. 

“ The best in the stable,” said Kelly. “ He’s got 
a history too, like old Larry yonder, with this dif- 
ference, that I know Tim’s history, but I have never 
been able to get at the bottom of Larry’s. I reckon 
it would be interesting if any one managed it. How- 
ever, it does not do to inquire into such matters too 


62 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


closely. There are a lot of people in Tasmania with 
funny histories.” 

Where did you pick Tim up,” asked Tom Wilde, 
‘‘ and what is his other name ? ” 

Tim Swift is his real name, I believe,” said Kelly. 

found him half starved in a slum in Wapping, a 
part of old Hobart I don’t fancy you are much 
acquainted with. You should get Detective Shank- 
lin to show you round that quarter. He’s a good 
sort and knows all the ropes.” 

No, I have not been in Wapping yet,” said Tom. 

That’s a treat in store.” 

'' Not much of a treat,” said Kelly, but it’s an 
experience you ought to have. It gives you an idea 
of what old Hobart was like when the convict system 
was in full swing here, and the place was a hell upon 
earth.” 

Do you recollect those days?” said Tom. 

Not very well,” said Kelly, “ but my father has 
told me all about them. He is one of the oldest 
free settlers on the island. But Tm forgetting Tim 
Swift. I found him in a dirty bit of a hovel in the 
dirtiest part of Wapping. He was stunted in his 
growth, I could see that, and I thought he was just 
the sort of lad I wanted if I could manage to get 
hold of him. I roused him up and told him what I 
wanted him for, and you should have seen his face 
brighten. He was only too ready to go with me, 
and he proposed to set off there and then. I asked 
him how old he was, and he said fifteen. He looked 
more, and I could hardly believe him ; but he had 
a young face when I rubbed the dirt off it and got 


MYSTERY SHOWS PACE. 


63 


a good look at him. He trudged along by my side, 
and we had got as far as the corner of the lane, when 
a drunken woman was being dragged out of a dingy- 
looking public-house by a couple of policemen. She 
caught sight of the boy and she must have divined 
the reason of his being with me. With a sudden 
jerk she wrenched herself free of the police, and 
picking up a stone flung it at me. You see that 
mark over my right eye ? ” said Kelly. 

Yes,'* said Tom. It was a deep cut, I should 
say." 

'' It was," said Kelly, and Tim's mother gave it 
me. That stone was nearly the death of me. I have 
only to point at the scar when Tim is inclined to 
kick over the traces and he quiets down at once. 
His mother died in prison, and so there is no one to 
interfere with the mutual arrangement Tim and I 
entered into." 

How old is he now?" said Tom. He looks 
about fourteen." 

He's about twenty," said Kelly, with a smile. 
“ Rather an old youngster, eh? " 

What a fool he must think me," said Tom, for 
calling out ' Well done, youngster.' " 

Not a bit of it," said Kelly ; “ he will like you 
the better for it. He is always flattered when people 
call him youngster. He's as particular as a woman 
about his age. But here we are at the course. We'll 
leave the nags here." 

They dismounted and entered the Elwick race- 
course, through a couple of large gates which clanged 
to behind them. 


64 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Elwick race-course is prettily situated a few miles 
from Hobart, and on one side is bounded by the 
shiny waters of the river Derwent, while the country 
on every side is picturesque. 

“ We’ll send the others for a couple of exercise 
gallops,” said Kelly, '^and then have a brush up with 
Mystery over six furlongs.” 

What shall you send with him ? ” asked Tom. 

We’ll put Tim on Mystery and Larry on The 
Swell. The old horse will be quite fast enough to 
bring him along. He won that last Flying Handicap 
in good style.” 

He did,” said Tom; ‘Hf Mystery can pace it 
with him he’ll be all right for a young ’un.” 

The other horses in the team went their usual 
morning’s work, and then Kelly had Mystery and 
The Swell stripped for a gallop. 

Larry weighed about eight stone, seven pounds 
while Tim could easily scale seven stone, but the 
trainer had put about a stone dead weight up in 
Tim’s saddle. 

It’s The Swell giving him about half a stone,” 
said Kelly to Tom, in a whisper. 

If Mystery can keep alongside him with the 
weight, he’s a clinker,” replied Tom. 

‘‘ Go to the seven-furlong post,” said Kelly to 
Larry ; and canter together until you near the six- 
furlong. Then break away and come home as fast 
as you like.” 

All right,” said Larry ; but it will be a one- 
horse race with The Swell. You cannot expect a 


MYSTER Y SHO WS PA CE. 65 

colt like Mystery to keep going with him, even with 
such a pull in the weights/' 

Larry has an idea there is about a stone and a 
half between them," said Kelly ; “ he would be very 
much surprised if he knew what is in Tim's saddle." 

Will Tim know ? " asked Tom. 

‘‘ He may do, but he will never think it is as much 
as a stone. I'll lift the saddle off myself," said Kelly. 

“ Make the best of your way home, Tim," said 
Kelly, as the horses walked down to the seven-fur- 
long post. 

Yes, sir," replied Tim, and he had a mischievous 
twinkle in his eyes as he thought to himself, “ I’ll 
astonish Larry above a bit. He don't know what a 
flyer the young 'un is. I’ll never forget the after- 
noon he cleared with me when I had him out by 
myself. I would not let the boss know for worlds. 
He’d have punched my head." 

Just you try and keep up with me,” said Larry 
to Tim, as they cantered down to the six-furlong post. 

You’ve not got much chance, but you had better 
make a bit of a show for a race, if you can." 

''You’ll have to shake the old Swell up to beat 
me," said Tim. 

" Balm," was the somewhat vague reply of Larry ; 
" I’ll beat you a furlong." 

" Drinks you don’t," said Tim. 

" Bacca if you like," said Larry. 

" Done," replied Tim ; " a couple of quids." 

" Bacca quids ? " asked Larry. 

"You bet," replied Tim ; " don’t get many of the 
others." 

5 


66 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


Now then, come along,'' said Larry, as he let 
The Swell go, and he got a good start on Mystery, 
who was rather slow to begin. 

Jos Kelly and Tom were eagerly watching the 
gallop, Kelly with the watch in his hand, and Tom 
with his glasses on the six-furlong post. 

Off," shouted Tom, and Kelly set the watch go- 
ing. 

‘^The Swell's got a break on him," said Kelly; 
all the better, it will show us what the other beg- 
gar's made of." 

In the first furlong The Swell gained a consider- 
able lead on Mystery. 

‘‘ The boss has put a bit more weight up than I 
fancied," said Tim to himself; I’ll lose my quids 
for sure." 

In the next furlong The Swell was still ahead, and 
Tom said to Kelly, 

The old 'un will win easily." 

‘‘ I'm not too sure of that," said Kelly ; Mystery 
is doing very well with the weight he has up. I 
believe that young imp on his back knows there is 
a bit of weight in his saddle and is saving him for a 
run home." 

This was precisely what Tim was doing. He 
thought he would kid " Larry that the colt was 
hopelessly beaten, when he would ease The Swell a 
bit, so that he should not win by too much. 

In the last furlong Larry fancied he had Mystery 
done, and, as Tim surmised, he eased The Swell in 
his stride. He was, however, too old a general to be 
caught napping, but it was a bit of a surprise for him 


MYSTER Y SHO WS PA CE, 67 

when he saw the colt coming up alongside, and they 
had not reached the distance post. 

The young 'un’s finishing well,” thought Larry, 
‘^but he’ll never pass me. It’s too much to expect 
of him.” 

Meanwhile the trainer and Tom were becoming 
quite excited over the result of the spin. 

Mystery’s catching him,” said Tom. 

So he is,” said Kelly. He’s going splendidly. 
By Jove ! he’s a good ’un, Mr. Wilde. Thorough- 
bred or no thoroughbred, he’s a gentleman.” 

Larry found out when it was too late that Mystery 
was very far from being done, and had plenty of go 
in him. He shook The Swell up, and he responded, 
but it was too late. Tim had the colt at his top, and 
he was riding him hard. Mystery answered gamely 
enough, and before The Swell could regain the ad- 
vantage he had lost the colt passed the post half a 
length to the good. 

Larry was out of temper at his defeat, for he knew 
he ought to have won, but he was full of admiration 
for a colt that could beat his old favorite, The Swell. 

Tom and the trainer were delighted at the result 
of the spin. They knew now what a good colt they 
had in Mystery, and they were more puzzled than 
ever to imagine how he was bred, and where his dam 
came from. 

It is such a curious thing to me,” said Kelly, 
that no inquiries have been made about such a mare. 
There is a mystery at the bottom of it, and the colt 
is rightly named. We shall win a good race with 
him.” 


68 


ONLY A commoner:. 


Was the gallop much above the average?’’ said 
Tom. 

'‘Yes. A good deal above it. That colt could 
beat any two-year-old I have seen go at El wick. If 
you will take my advice, we shall not start him until 
he is three years old.” 

" I shall leave that with you,” said Tom. 

" Then we’ll keep him. I will tell you the race we 
will go for with him later on. Leave it to me, and 
we will win a good stake over him.” 

" Beat you bad, Larry,” said Tim, at breakfast. 

" My own fault,” growled Larry ; “ but he’s a good 
colt to beat The Swell at those weights.” 

" What weights? ” asked Tim. 

" Yours and mine, of course,” said Larry. " There 
could not have been much in your saddle, or he 
would never have got near me.” 

Tim said nothing, but he thought a lot, and he 
meant to save up his money and put it all on Mys- 
tery the first time he ran in a decent race. 

“ Do you happen to know any one of the name of 
Arthur Newman? ” said Tom to Jos Kelly, as they 
sat chatting over the trial. 

" Newman. Oh, yes. I trained for him two or 
three years back. He had very bad luck, and I fancy 
he sold out and went to Sydney.” 

" I have been wondering where he was ever since 
we landed here,” said Tom. " He wrote such glow- 
ing accounts of Tasmania that it was one of the prin- 
cipal inducements for us to come out.” 

" He’ll turn up again one of these days,” said 
Kelly. " He’s not the sort of man to be down 


MYSTER Y SHO WS PA CEy 69 

on his luck long. Plenty of energy and go in 
him.’' 

“ Are you quite* sure he went to Sydney?” said 
Tom. 

Yes. But where he is now is more than I can 
say. Fellows get scattered about so in Australia. 
I should not wonder if he has gone to some stud 
farm, for he was very fond of horses. Aayhow, 
Arthur Newman was not the sort of man to loaf 
when there was work to do.” 

Kelly knew more about Newman than Tom sus- 
pected. 

When Tom reached Rydal he told his father of 
the trial done by Mystery, and John Wilde was 
delighted. He also told him of Arthur Newman’s 
departure for Sydney. 

“ I thought he must be out of the colony, or he 
would have found us before this,” said John Wilde. 

We shall come across him some day, Tom, and when 
we do he shall have a real hearty Derbyshire welcome. 
I’m glad the colt’s turned out such a good ’un, 
for thy sake, Tom.” 

So am I. I love a good horse, father,” said 
Tom. 

So do I,” replied John Wilde. Strange we 
don’t know his breeding, Tom. He’s ‘ only a com- 
moner,’ after all.” 

“ That may be,” said Tom. We are only ‘ com- 
moners,’ father, but we are a good deal better bred 
than some of the titled men who can trace their de- 
scent from the proprietor of somebody’s celebrated 
soap or patent pills. The commoners, father, are 


70 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


the real backbone of a country. If Mystery is only 
a commoner, I am quite contented. He’s a well- 
bred commoner ; that I am sure of.” 

Well spoken, Tom. As you say, Mystery is a 
good bred ’un, although he may be called ‘ only a 
commoner.” 


R ALTON A T THE MOUNT 


7 * 


CHAPTER VII. 

RALTON AT THE MOUNT. 

Hugh Ralton created a favorable impression at 
The Mount. Mr. Rath thought him a business-like, 
gentlemanly man, and Ralton took good care to 
ingratiate himself with the master of the house. 

His business was to buy stud sheep for George 
Andrews, and he was nothing loth to accept Mr. 
Rath’s invitation to remain over the meeting of the 
Tasmanian Turf Club. 

Agnes Murray had taken an instinctive dislike to 
Ralton. He paid her great attention, but she felt 
his motives were anything but honorable, and that 
he presumed upon her position as governess. 

Mrs. Rath, however, found Ralton an agreeable 
companion, and he was nothing loth to flirt with a 
good-looking woman, although she was the wife of 
his host. 

Hugh Ralton had very little regard for the laws 
of hospitality if they ran counter to his personal 
enjoyment. He had no scruples of that kind in his 
composition, and he soon saw through the shallow 
nature of Violet Rath. 

He flattered her vanity, and when he had been a 
week at The Mount he ielt pretty sure of his ground 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


72 

with her. That she had no love for her husband he 
felt certain, but he easily saw that his host was very 
much in love with his wife, and trusted her 
implicitly. 

The more fool he,” thought Ralton ; she's not 
a bad sort of woman for a flirtation. Wonder if she 
has any money of her own. Not probable, I should 
think, or she would never have married Rath.” 

Strange to say, during the time Hugh Ralton had 
been at The Mount the Wildes had not cropped up 
in the course of conversation, nor had Tom Wilde 
or his father been to the house. 

Agnes Murray had almost forgotten Ralton was 
the name of the agent who had been the cause of 
the Wildes leaving the old country, and yet the name 
sounded familiar to her. 

One morning William Rath had gone out of town, 
and Agnes Murray had been sent into Hobart to do 
some shopping for Mrs. Rath. Hugh Ralton, who 
had also been out, returned to The Mount earlier 
than usual, and he found Violet Rath in the morn- 
ing-room dressed in a cool wrap, reading a novel. 

She looked very pretty, and greeted him cordially. 
There was a look in her eyes that encouraged Ralton 
to be bolder than usual. 

‘Wou look charming this morning, Mrs. Rath,” 
he said, as he seated himself near her. 

Do you really think so,” she replied with a smile. 

Fm afraid you are a flatterer, Mr. Ralton.” 

'' Not at all. I never flatter any one. I am too 
outspoken for my own good sometimes. Mr. Rath 
is a lucky man,” he added, with a sigh. 


R ALTON AT THE MOUNT 


73 


“ He has been successful, if that is lucky,” said 
Mrs. Rath. He is such a man of business. He 
has no time for anything else. We see very little 
of him at home except during certain months of the 
year.” 

“ I do not mean lucky in that sense,” said Ralton. 

What do you mean then,” asked Violet, who 
knew well enough what he alluded to. 

“ I mean he is the luckiest of men to possess such 
a wife. If I had had such good fortune I am afraid 
business would have been sorely neglected for the 
pleasure of lingering in her society,” said Ralton. 

‘'You are different from Mr. Rath,” she said; 
“ he is a much older man than yourself. He sees 
things in a different light.” 

“ But surely you would prefer your husband to be 
with you as much as possible,” said Ralton. 

“ Under some circumstances, yes,” she replied, 
hesitatingly, and looking at Ralton from beneath 
her long eyelashes with a glance that sent the blood 
tingling through his veins. 

Violet Rath did not mean to do wrong. She was 
a flirt by nature, and she thought it was a pleasant 
way of passing the time by coquetting with Hugh 
Ralton. Had she known the man’s true character 
she would have hesitated before giving him the least 
hold over her. She saw he was inclined to admire 
her, and it flattered her vain nature. 

Hugh Ralton drew his chair nearer to her, and 
took her hand firmly in his own. 

His vehemence startled her, but she did not feel 
afraid. 


74 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


May I ask you one question?” he said, earnestly, 
looking her in the face with an ardent gaze. 

^‘Certainly, if it is one I ought to answer,” she re- 
plied, looking down. 

Do you love your husband ? ” 

Mr. Ralton, you forget yourself,” she said. 
“You have no right to ask me such a question.” 

“ I beg your pardon. I am sorry if I have offended 
you, but I ” — he hesitated. “ She is not angry,” he 
thought to himself. 

Violet Rath’s curiosity was aroused; she wished 
him to finish his sentence. 

“ Why did you ask me such a question ? ” she 
said. “ What were you going to say ? ” 

“ It’s better left unsaid,” went on Ralton, “ I might 
offend you too deeply to be forgiven, and that I 
could not bear.” 

He rose from his chair and paced up and down 
the room. He was a good actor, Hugh Ralton. 
He had been acting all his life. He had figured in 
several dramas of real life, and generally played the 
part of villain. 

“ Poor fellow,” thought Violet Rath, “ I believe 
he is in love with me.” 

The sensation caused by such a thought was not 
unpleasant, as it ought to have been. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Ralton, and tell me what you 
were going to say. I promise you I will not be ofi 
fended now you are penitent.” 

“ But I am not penitent,” he said, angrily. “ I 
cannot be penitent.” 


RAL TON A T THE MO C/NT. 


75 

He suddenly stopped, looked at her for a moment, 
and then came close to her. 

She felt his burning hand upon her shoulder, and 
his face was close to her own, as he stooped in front 
of her. 

Shall I tell you ? ” he said, half to himself. Then, 
as though he had made a sudden resolution, he stood 
away from her and said : 

‘‘ No. It would not be honorable. I cannot do 
it, and yet it is very hard to bear.’' 

Violet Rath rose from her seat. She was a tall, 
graceful woman, and the folds of her thin morning 
wrap disclosed the outlines of her exquisite figure. 

She came close to Hugh Ralton, and said, ‘'Tell 
me what you mean ; it may be better for us both.” 

She wished she had not spoken the moment the 
words were uttered. 

“ Better for us both,” thought Hugh Ralton. 

“ Mrs. Rath — Violet,” he said, “ I wish I had never 
come here. It would have been better for me if I 
had never seen you. I must leave The Mount. I 
dare not stay here longer.” 

She knew what he meant, but she did not reprove 
him. His stronger will seemed to dominate over 
her, and she felt she could not resist him. 

As Hugh Ralton looked at her standing close be- 
fore him, her eyes downcast, and her form quivering, 
he could not resist the uncontrollable impulse that 
came over him. 

Before Violet could realize what had happened 
she felt herself held fast in Hugh Ralton’s embrace, 
and his hot burning kisses were on her face. 


76 


ONL Y A COMMONER. 


How strong and passionate he was. She could 
not resist him. She hardly attempted to do so. 
The man’s superior strength cowed her. 

I love you, Violet,” he whispered, hoarsely. '' If 
they were to be the last words I ever spoke, I would 
say I love you.” 

She was still in his arms. She looked up into his 
face, and their lips met in a lingering kiss. 

Then her senses came back to her, and she 
struggled to be free. 

He placed her gently in her chair, and stood before 
her with his head bent and in an attitude of hu- 
mility. 

But there was no humility in his heart. He felt 
its tumultuous beating, and every nerve in his body 
was quivering with suppressed passion. 

He had held her in his arms, he had pressed her to 
his heart, and he had kissed her lips. 

His pulses tingled, his brain was on fire. Violet 
Rath had moved him as no other woman had ever 
done before. 

Her soft supple figure, the fragrant scent of her 
costume, the honeyed breath from her lips made him 
feel that moment that he could be her slave. 

Hugh Ralton was too selfish a man for such a feel- 
ing to predominate long in him. 

Gradually it evaporated, and as he looked at the 
drooping figure of the woman before him, with her 
face hidden in her hands to hide her blushes of shame, 
his desire towards her was the base and heartless one 
of possession. 

Little did Violet Rath know what this man was 


R ALTON AT THE MOUNT 


77 


capable of. His boldness had for the time conquered 
her, but she was already repentant. She knew a 
considerable portion of the blame for what had hap- 
pened rested with herself. She had encouraged him ; 
she had done the same with men before, and nothing 
had come of it. 

Forgive me, Violet,” he said. I could not help 
it. My feelings, my love for you, got the better of 
me. Say you forgive me, or I shall be the most 
miserable of men.” 

I will forgive you,” she said, in a low voice. I 
am to blame quite as much as you. You must prom- 
ise me, Hugh — Mr. Ralton — never to allude to 
this subject again. It is very painful to me. Please 
leave me ; I want to be alone.” 

He took her hand respectfully, and without a 
word left the room. 

What have I done ? ” thought Violet, when alone. 

Oh, how wicked I have been ! I could not resist 
him. He was so masterful. Surely he will leave 
here as quickly as possible. I did not mean to go 
so far with him. He loves me. Yes, I am sure he 
does. Could I ever love him? Not now. It might 
have been had I met him before I was married. 
Whatever happens, I will be true to William. I am 
his wife, and he shall have no cause to blush for me. 
I haye been a wicked woman, but it is not too late 
to strive to do better.” 

Good resolutions, Violet Rath, if you keep them. 

Hugh Ralton was quite satisfied with his morning’s 
work. He had time to think over what had occurred 
in the privacy of his own room. He hardly knew 


78 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


what he intended to do. For Violet Rath he had no 
pity. If she encouraged him it was her own fault. 
Married women should be more careful of their 
reputations, and those of their husbands. What 
was a woman’s fair name to such a man as Ralton? 

She’s a fine woman,” he mused, no mistake about 
that. A lovely woman, and, by Jove ! what a figure ! 
Old Rath’s a lucky dog, if he only knew it. He 
ought to look after her, though. Thinks more about 
his stud sheep, I fancy, although he’s head over 
ears in love with her. Bad state of affairs for a man 
to be in with his own wife ; all right with somebody 
else’s. Not a marrying man myself, thank goodness. 
I wonder what some of the girls I left behind in the 
old country are doing. Ada Lawton was the pick 
of that basket, but she got troublesome. What a 
temper she had ! I should have had a rough time if 
I had married her. She is far enough away ; that 
is one comfort. I am not at all likely to see her 
again.” 

He looked out of the window, and saw Agnes 
Murray coming up the drive, and a gentleman with 
her walking by her side, with his horse’s bridle over 
his arm. 

Quite romantic,” he thought. “ Miss Agnes, 
I fancy, does not like me. I shall have to take her 
down a peg. My dear Agnes, the mistress of the 
house is more adorable than you are. Wonder who 
the fellow with her is. A hanger-on, I suppose.” 

He looked earnestly at the figure of the man walk- 
ing by Agnes Murray’s side. It appeared familiar to 
him. Suddenly he sprang from his seat with a start. 


R ALTON AT THE A/0 C/NT 


79 


“ It cannot be,” muttered Ralton, with an oath ; 
‘‘and yet why not? They came out to Hobart, 
What cursed luck it is ! Who would ever have ex- 
pected to find him at The Mount, and apparently on 
good terms with the inmates ? I must be mis- 
taken.” 

He looked again. There was no doubt about it 
this time. 

Agnes Murray and her escort had drawn nearer to 
the house, and Hugh Ralton saw it was Tom Wilde 
accompanying her. 


8o 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A MAN SURPRISED IS HALF BEATEN. 

Tom Wilde, as he entered the house with Agnes 
Murray, little knew whom he was to meet. 

He was invited to remain for luncheon and Mrs. 
Rath declined to put in an appearance, on the plea 
she was unwell. 

Her scene with Ralton had thoroughly upset her, 
and she realized the false position in which she had 
allowed herself to be placed by her imprudence. 

Mr. Rath being absent, Tom Wilde and Agnes 
Murray lunched together. They were perfectly at 
ease in each other’s company, and as yet no stronger 
feeling than that of friendship had been experienced 
between them. 

Tom Wilde, as he looked at his companion, began 
to realize that she had become almost part of his life 
and was necessary to his happiness. He always felt 
the want of her company when absent from her for 
two or three weeks. A good woman, such as Agnes 
Murray, influences a man’s life, even when not pres- 
ent at his side. 

It only needed a word from Tom Wilde to let 
Agnes Murray understand the real state of her feel- 


A MAJV SURPRISED IS HALF BE A TEH 8 1 

ings towards him ; but as yet that word had not 
been spoken. 

Hugh Ralton remained in his room. He had no 
desire to meet Tom Wilde until it became absolutely 
necessary. 

Suppose he’s making love to the little governess,” 
he thought. I wish him joy. She’s too much of 
a prude for my fancy. I should like to lower her 
pride. It would knock some of the conceit out of 
her.” 

After luncheon Tom chatted with Agnes for half 
an hour, and as she had to attend to her duties, he 
said he would leave. 

I hope I shall see you again soon, Agnes,” he 
said, earnestly. “ I miss you very much when I am 
away from you for a few weeks.” 

Do you, Tom ? I am glad to hear some one thinks 
about me when absent,” said Agnes, smiling. 

I am always thinking about you, Agnes,” said 
Tom; and something in the tone of his voice made 
her heart flutter. 

‘‘ Give my love to your father,” she said, and 
shaking his hand went away. 

Tom walked down the drive, and Ralton saw him 
go out at the gate. 

Before Tom had gone many yards the groom ran 
after him and asked him if he would step round to 
the stables and look at one of the horses that had 
gone lame. 

Tom readily complied with his request^ and ac- 
companied the man to the rear of the house. 

In the meantime Hugh Ralton, thinking the coast 

6 


82 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


clear, came out of his room, and on the stairs en- 
countered Agnes Murray. 

‘‘ Good-afternoon, Miss Murray,” he said. ‘‘ I see 
you have had a visitor for luncheon.” 

‘'Yes, Mr. Ralton. He is an old friend of mine. 
We came out in the same ship from home.” 

“ Indeed,” said Ralton. “ Quite romantic, I 
declare. I know your friend very well, or rather 
I did know him in the old country.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Agnes, surprised. 

“ He was one of the most objectionable young 
men I had to deal with in my capacity as the Duke 

of ’s agent. His father was such an obstinate 

old man, and his son so impertinent, that I had to 
turn them out of Hawthorn Farm. They were the 
worst tenants any man could possibly have had,” 
said Ralton. 

As Ralton spoke it dawned upon Agnes Murray 
that this was the man Tom Wilde and his father 
had spoken of as being the cause of their leaving 
England. She gave him an indignant look as she 
said : 

“ I have often wondered where I heard your name 
before, Mr. Ralton. Now I know. You are the 
man Mr. Wilde has spoken to me about as being the 
cause of their leaving the old country, although it 
was hardly in the manner you suggest.” 

“ So the young man has been giving me a charac- 
ter, has he ? ” said Ralton. “ Much obliged to him, I 
am sure. Let me give you a piece of advice. Miss 
Murray. Mr. Tom Wilde (you see, I know his 
name), is no fit person for Mr. Rath's governess to 


A MAAT Sl/RPRISED /S HALF BEA TEN, 83 

associate with. I shall certainly warn Mr. Rath 
against this young man. He cannot know his true 
character, or he would not admit him into his house 
so freely.” 

Anything you may say to me will not alter the 
good opinion I have formed of Mr. Wilde and his son. 
They were very kind to me on the voyage out, and 
have been my friends every since. You had better 
be careful what you say to Mr. Rath. Tom Wilde 
is not the sort of man to put up with insults from 
you, Mr. Ralton.” 

I am glad he has one champion, at any rate. 
He ought to be proud of you. Miss Murray. I have 
warned you against him in good faith. I know him 
better than you do. Some of the farmers' daughters 
have reason to rue the day they ever met Mr. Tom 
Wilde. I hope you will never have cause to do so.” 

‘‘You insult me, Mr. Ralton,” said Agnes Murray. 
“ I would sooner trust Tom Wilde than a man of 
your reputation. I am not blind, nor quite as simple 
as you may think. If Mr. Rath knew how you 
behave in this house he would quickly order you 
out of it. Take care I do not open his eyes to your 
true character.” 

“ What do you mean?” said Ralton, wondering if 
she could possibly have seen anything of his flirta- 
tion with Violet Rath. 

“ You know very well what I mean,” said Agnes, 
as she swept past him with a look of disdain on her 
handsome face. 

“ Wonder how much she knows,” thought Ralton. 
“ Bah ! she could not have an idea of the little 


84 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


comedy enacted a short time ago. She was out of 
the house at the time. I must be more circumspect 
in future.” 

He went outside, lit a cigar, and walked round 
towards the stables, thinking he would go for a ride 
to soothe his ruffled feelings. 

In the shrubbery between the house and the 
stables he met Tom Wilde. 

The two men stopped and looked at each other 
with no friendly expression on their faces. 

Tom Wilde was surprised to see Ralton, and also 
angry with himself for thinking the agent’s ap- 
pearance boded no good to either himself or his 
father. 

You here,” said Tom; “I thought we had at 
least got rid of you when we left England. You are 
about the last man I expected to see, or wanted to 
meet. I am all the more surprised at meeting you 
in this place. What are you doing here ? ” 

^‘That’s my business,” said Ralton. ‘'Yours I 
can guess.’’ 

“ Indeed,” said Tom. 

“ There’s a lady in the case. I’ll bet,” said Ralton, 
nodding in the direction of the house ; “ I congratu- 
late you upon your choice,” he said, sneeringly. 

“ Be careful what you say,” said Tom ; “ we are 
not at Hawthorn Farm now.” 

“ I wish you were,” said Ralton, “ and I had to 
deal with you.” 

“ And pray, what would you do ? ” said Tom. 

“ Have you turned out neck and crop,” said Hugh 
Ralton. 


A MAN SURPRISED IS HALF BE A TEN, 85 

I expect that is what the Duke has done to you,” 
said Tom, ^‘or you would not be here.” 

The words struck home, and Ralton said savagely : 
‘‘ Take care what you say, young man.” 

I see I am not far wide of the mark,” replied 
Tom. ‘‘The Duke found you out, I suppose. I 
should very much like to hear the history of your 
dismissal. It must have been short and not over 
sweet to make you leave the country. However, it 
is no more than I expected.” 

Hugh Ralton was losing his temper. 

“ If Mr. Rath knew your character he would not 
have you hanging about his premises,” said Ralton ; 
“I shall take care to let him know all about you. 
I fancy he will accept my version of your his- 
tory.” 

“ Have a care what you say, Hugh Ralton,” said 
Tom Wilde; “we have put up with more than 
enough from you in days gone by ; I shall stand 
none of your nonsense here.” 

“ And I shall stand none of yours,” said Ralton. 
“If I can do you a bad turn you may be quite sure 
I shall. That little governess of Mr. Rath’s had 
better look after herself with a man of your repu- 
tation.” 

“ Don’t mention her name,” said Tom, threaten- 
ingly. “ She is much too pure for you to be in the 
same house with her. Perhaps you imagine I do 
not know your true character ; I learned a little 
about you from Ada Lawton. Ah ! I see you re- 
member her.” 

Hugh Ralton turned white with rage. What 


86 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


could Tom Wilde know about Ada Lawton and his 
relations with her. 

Tom, to tell the truth, knew very little about Ada 
Lawton, but he had heard enough to give him a hint 
that Hugh Ralton had not behaved as he ought to 
have done toward her. 

Ada Lawton,’’ said Ralton savagely ; ‘‘ what of 
her? She was no better than the rest of such women. 
I daresay Ada Lawton knew how to take care of her- 
self better than your demure little friend, Agnes 
Murray.” 

Tom Wilde seized Ralton, who was a bigger man 
than himself, by the collar, and raised his riding 
whip. Say another word about Miss Murray and 
I’ll thrash you,” said Tom. 

Hands off,” said Ralton, wrenching himself free ; 
‘‘ you blackguard, that’s your game, is it ? ” and be- 
fore Tom could avoid the blow, Hugh Ralton had 
struck him over the head with his heavy hunting 
crop. 

Tom’s hat saved the force of the blow, but it was 
of sufficient power to half stun him. He quickly 
recovered, however, and quick as lightning hit 
Ralton full in the face, and knocked him into the 
bushes, where he lay spitting blood. 

At the moment Tom Wilde struck Ralton, Mr. 
Rath appeared on the scene, having returned home, 
and taken his horse to the stables. 

‘‘Wilde, what is the meaning of this?” he said, 
angrily. “ Mr. Ralton is my guest.” 

Tom Wilde stammered some confused apology, 
and Hugh Ralton having regained his feet, said; 


A MAN SURPRISED IS HALF BEA TEN 87 

This man, Mr. Rath, is well known to me. 

When I was the Duke of ’s agent in Derbyshire, 

I found it necessary to turn him and his father out of 
Hawthorn Farm. He is a bad lot, and his father is 
not much better. I am sorry to see you are ac- 
quainted with them.” 

That's a lie, Hugh Ralton,” said Tom, advancing 
towards him again, ‘‘ say another word against my 
father, you scoundrel, and Til thrash you within an 
inch of your life.” 

‘'You hear him, Mr. Rath,” said Ralton; “that's 
the violent sort of man I had to deal with. He met 
me here as I was going to the stables, and having 
an old grudge against me, he assaulted me.” 

“ Tom, I am sorry to hear this,” said Mr. Rath. 
“ I had no idea you would have so far broken the 
laws of hospitality as to strike one of my guests.” 

“ He struck me over the head with his hunting- 
crop,” said Tom ; “ see, there is the markon my hat.” 

“ I merely did it in self-defence,” said Ralton ; 
“ his attack was most savage and unprovoked, I as- 
sure you, Mr. Rath.” 

“ Another lie,” said Tom. “ Mr. Rath, you have 
known me ever since I landed here, Do you think 
I am the sort of man to commit fin ynprovpked 
assault upon any man, more especially in your 
grounds ? ” 

“ I certainly should not have thought so,” said 
Mr. Rath, “ but I saw you hit Mr. Ralton.” 

“ I was justified in doing so. Mr. Rath, that man 
is a scoundrel. Instead of turning us out of our 
farm, as he says he did, he drove my father to such 


88 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


extremities that he was compelled to leave. He has 
since been dismissed by the Duke, and that is, I sup- 
pose, the reason he came out here.'* 

“ Mr. Ralton is here, Tom, as the representative 
of an old friend of mine, Mr. Andrews of Bullerana 
Station, in New South Wales. He is over here on 
business. I am sure George Andrews would not have 
Mr. Ralton as his manager if he had not thorough 
confidence in him.'^ 

Then I am sorry for your friend, Mr. Rath. If 
Hugh Ralton is manager at Bullerana Station he 
will either ruin the owner or involve him in serious 
difficulties,” said Tom. 

You have no right to speak like that, Tom 
Wilde,” said Mr. Rath. ‘'Your temper has got the 
better of your judgment. Come, shake hands with 
Mr. Ralton, and let bygones be bygones.” 

“ Never,” said Tom. “ I would not take that man’s 
hand, Mr. Rath, for a fortune. I am very sorry 
such a scene should have happened here, and I apol- 
ogize to you for it. As for Hugh Ralton, he had 
better beware how he meddles in my affairs. I know 
the man, Mr. Rath, and I warn you not to trust 
him. He is a coward and a bully, and I will be even 
with him yet for the insults he has heaped upon my 
father in days gone by. I will not trouble you with 
my presence while he is at your house, Mr. Rath. 
When he is gone, if you care to see me I shall be 
only too happy to have the privilege of visiting you. 
It has given my father and myself much pleasure in 
the past to do so. I hope such a man as Hugh 
Ralton will not stand between us.” 


A MAN SURPRISED IS HALF BE A TEN 89 

I am sorry, Tom, you will not be friends with 
him. I feel sure you are mistaken in Mr. Ralton. In 
the past he had, no doubt, in his capacity as agent, 
unpleasant duties to perform, and possibly did not 
see things in the same light as either yourself or your 
father. The situation is different now. Come, will 
you not be at all events on friendly terms ? ” 

“ I am quite willing to try and forget what has 
passed,” said Ralton. Mr. Wilde was always easily 
led astray. His temper got the better of him, no 
doubt.” 

Tom took no notice of Ralton's sneering remark, 
but turning to Mr. Rath held out his hand, and said : 

Good-day, Mr. Rath. Remember I have put 
you on your guard against that man. I trust for 
your own sake you will never have cause to regret 
making his acquaintance.” 

Mr. Rath shook hands with Tom Wilde in a half- 
hearted manner, and said : 

I am sorry for this, Tom. I always thought you 
were a reasonable man.” 

So I am, Mr. Rath, but I cannot forget what is 
due to my own self-respect, and if I took that man’s 
hand I could never respect myself again,” said Tom, 
who turned away, and mounting his horse which had 
been fastened to the outer fence, rode off. 

Hugh Ralton took care to give Mr. Rath a highly- 
colored picture of the iniquities of the Wildes, father 
and son, when in England. He even hinted that it 
was on account of Tom Wilde’s bad conduct and 
spendthrift disposition that his father had to sell off 
and leave Hawthorn Farm. 


90 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


He must have altered very much since he has 
been here then/’ said Mr. Rath, for I have always 
found him a well-conducted young fellow. It is the 
way of the world. You can never judge from appear- 
ances. I am loth to believe Tom Wilde is such a 
scamp as you have made him out to be, Mr. Ralton.” 

I can assure you what I have told you is correct,” 
said Ralton. I have known him for several years. 
He is a bad lot at the bottom, Mr. Rath, although 
it may have been to his interests to keep on friendly 
terms with you.” 

When Hugh Ralton had retired William Rath 
thought over what he had said, and what had oc- 
curred. 

I will watch Tom Wilde carefully,” he thought. 

I like the lad. I think Ralton must be mistaken 
in him. His father is a man I respect. No, Mr. 
Ralton, I cannot quite accept the picture you have 
painted of the Wildes. You have gone a step too 
far. I should not wonder if Tom Wilde was not 
justified in knocking you down ; and you went down 
like a ninepin,” said Rath to himself, with a smile, 
as he remembered the scene he had witnessed. 


ARTHUR NEWMAN WRITES, 


91 


CHAPTER IX. 

ARTHUR NEWMAN WRITES. 

Tom’s account of the affair at The Mount was 
told to his father without any embellishment. 

‘‘You should have seen the cur go down when I 
hit him, father,” said Tom, with a smile of enjoy- 
ment. “ It was some recompense for his conduct in 
the past. He will find out soon enough he must not 
put on the ‘ agent’s ’ airs here.” 

“ I am sorry he is here at all, Tom,” said John Wilde. 
“ Ralton is a dangerous man, and he will not forget 
what you have done. Why has he come out here? 
I thought at least we should have been rid of him 
when we left the old country. It’s bad luck, Tom, 
and bodes no good to, us, I am sure.” 

“Nonsense, father. What possible harm can 
Ralton do us? He will not meddle with my 
affairs again, you may be quite sure of that. He’s 
a coward, and I have taught him a lesson,” said Tom. 

Old John Wilde, although he pretended to have 
forgotten all about Hugh Ralton’s presence in the 
country, thought a good deal over the matter. He 
knew the man well enough to be afraid for Tom if 
ever Hugh Ralton had it in his power to do him an 
injury. 


92 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


It seemed hard luck that after leaving his old 
home on account of Ralton the man should have 
followed them here. 

A week or so after Tom Wilde’s meeting with 
Hugh Ralton, he received a letter bearing the Syd- 
ney post-mark. Upon opening it he was surprised 
to find it was from Arthur Newman. He was more 
surprised still when he read its contents. It ran as 
follows : 

Bullerana Station, 

New South Wales. 

Dear Tom, — You will probably be surprised to 
see my handwriting, and if you tear this letter up 
without reading it, I ought not to be offended. A 
nice mate you must think me to invite you to come 
out to Tasmania, and then to make no sign during 
all this time. 

It has not been altogether my fault, old fellow. 
Circumstances over which I have no control — new 
phrase that — have prevented my scribbling to you 
before, much less a chance of seeing you. I went 
the pace in Hobart, as you have probably heard 
by this time. I took to racing much in the same 
manner as the domesticated duck takes to the farm- 
yard pond, only with this difference : the duck 
floats, I did not. My trainer, one Jos Kelly, a 
very decent fellow and honest, behaved well to me, 
^ and if you come across him tell him I am on the 
lookout for something good in the horse line for 
him. 

I had to sell off my horses, and the one I re- 
gretted parting with most was a mare in foal, pedi- 


ARTHUR NEWMAN WRITES. 


93 


gree unknown. A fellow sold her to me in Hobart. 
I felt sure at the time all was not right, but I thought 
I might as well have her as any one else, and, of 
course, if there had been inquiries for her, I should 
have at once answered them. I left that mare 
with Kelly. If her foal is a decent one, it must 
race. 

These personal details I hope will not worry you, 
but I must either write or talk about myself to some- 
one, or I shall go off it,” as the saying goes. When 
things went wrong at Hobart I came over to Sydney, 
and having a little money, had a look round. You 
know what that means. In one of my looking round 
expeditions I stumbled across a squatter named 
George Andrews. He seemed to take a fancy to 
me, and I went back with him to Bullerana Station. 
I like the life immensely. It is a grand country, and 
not too much work. Plenty of riding, and shooting, 
and so on, and the boss is a real good sort. There 
is one objection, however, and that is the manager, 
as he calls himself. His name is Hugh Ralton, and 
he’s a brute. I use the word advisedly. Hugh Ral- 
ton, is a brute, nothing more nor less, and, what’s 
more, I believe he is a scoundrel, and will swindle 
the confiding Andrews upon the first opportunity, 
if he has not done so already. 

“ I forgot to say Ralton is at present in Hobart, or 
ought to be, where he has gone on business connected 
with stud rams, a matter he knows as much about 
as my boot. If you come across him, give my best 
wishes to him, and tell him to fall overboard before 
he reaches Sydney. 


94 


ONL Y A COMMONER. 


‘‘ Bullerana Station is a curious, old-fashioned place. 
I wish you could see it. I have not been half over 
it yet, for it extends several miles. The mares here 
are a grand lot, and, strange to say, there is one the 
dead image of the mare I left with Kelly. If I was 
not sure I left the mare with Kelly I would swear 
it was the one I bought in Hobart. She is by Splen- 
dor out of Remorse. I sit and look at her some- 
times, and wonder whether the mare I purchased 
was stolen from here. 

" I thought I would question the boss about the 
matter one day,' and I did. He informed me that 
he had missed several mares, and one a full sister to 
her. Now I’d lay a hundred to a straw hat that the 
mare he lost is the one I bought, but how the deuce 
did she get over to Tasmania? The man who sold 
her to me I have never seen again, and probably 
never shall. When I get my next check I may 
leave Hugh Ralton to swindle the old man as he 
likes, and come over to Hobart. I have warned 
Andrews against him, but it is no good, the fellow 
appears to exercise a strange fascination over him. 
There’s something devilish about Ralton, he makes 
me shudder when I look at him. 

“ Of course I shall look you up if I come, and we 
can go and see if Kelly has got the mare yet. If so, 
he must have the youngster. How he or she is bred, 
I do not know, but as I said before, it all seems clear 
to me about the dam. Enough of this twaddle. 
Tell your father I shall be glad to see him, and need 
I say I shall be awfully pleased to meet you again, 
Tom.’^ 


ARTHUR NEWMAN WRITES. 


95 


The letter concluded in the usual manner, and 
when Tom had grasped its contents he gave vent to 
a prolonged whistle, 

No wonder Mystery can gallop,'’ he said to him- 
self. What a curious coincidence that Arthur 
Newman should be on the same station as Hugh 
Ralton. I will let him know what sort of a man 
Ralton is, although he appears to have found it out 
for himself." 

Tom Wilde was not long in answering his friend's 
letter, and he gave him an account of the meeting 
with Ralton. He wrote : — 

If it is any satisfaction to you to know it, I may 
as well tell you that I knocked Mr. Hugh Ralton 
down when I met him at the Mount. He fell into a 
lot of shrubs, where he sat, looking very uncomfort- 
able, and presented anything but a pleasant sight to 
Mr. Rath, who came up at the time. Enough of 
the fellow. I have told you all I know about him, 
and nothing to his credit. 

The mare you mentioned in your note must be 
the one I have got a half share in with Kelly, and 
the colt is a beauty. If his dam is bred as you say, 
there is no wonder at his being able to gallop. He 
goes like the wind, and Kelly is, I can assure you, 
vastly pleased with him. He thinks he is sure to 
win the next Hobart Cup. We shall be very glad 
indeed to see you, all I can say is, come over as soon 
as you possibly can." 

Tom Wilde read Newman’s letter to Jos. Kelly, 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


96 

who had not the slightest doubt that the dam of 
Mystery was the mare alluded to. 

It will not do to say anything about the matter 
now,” said Kelly. ^‘You see, Mystery's pedigree 
being unknown is all in our favor, because the sport- 
ing men and the clever division will never think of 
backing a commoner like that. If it became known 
his dam was by Splendor out of Remorse, it would 
put quite a different complexion on the business.” 

‘‘ We are not certain his dam is the mare lost or 
stolen from Bullerana,” said Tom. 

No,” said Kelly ; but from Mr, Newman’s 
letter it is about a thousand to one such is the 
case.” 

‘‘Then,” said Tom, “we had better write to Mr. 
Andrews and let him know all about her.” 

“What!” said Kelly, jumping from his seat. 
“ Blow the gaff on the whole affair ? Come, I say, 
that’s a bit too much. I’m honest enough in all 
conscience, but that would be double-distilled, over- 
proof honesty.” 

“ It is what ought to be done, nevertheless,” said 
Tom. 

“ Nonsense,” said Kelly. “ How do we know the 
mare is Mr. Andrews’ property? If she is, why 
does he not look after his property ? We are not 
recoverers of stolen property. If Mr. Newman has 
said nothing about Abduction to him, why the deuce 
should we go out of our way to do so ? If it is any- 
body’s place to do so it is Mr. Newman’s.” 

Tom was not easily brought over to the trainer’s 
way of thinking. Had the mare been his sole 


ARTHUR NEWMAN WRITES. 


97 


property, he would have communicated at once 
with Mr. Andrews upon the matter. But she was 
not. Kelly had his share in her and the colt, and 
Tom felt it would be hard lines for the trainer 
if Mystery was taken out of his hands after all 
the trouble he had had with him. He knew the 
straightforward course was to write to Mr. Andrews ; 
and yet he hesitated to do so because of Jos Kelly. 

“ If I consent to let the matter rest until after the 
Hobart Cup, will you agree to my writing to Mr. 
Andrews then ? said Tom. 

“ I don't mind that so much,'' said Kelly. “ Mr. 
Newman will be here before then, and then we 
shall be able to hear what he has to say in the 
matter. You’re over-scrupulous, Mr. Wilde, indeed 
you are. Bless my soul, you ought to have been a 
parson. Horse-racing is a sight too wicked a pastime 
for you to indulge in.’’ 

“ Horse-racing is not wicked,” said Tom. “ No 
one can be fonder of horses than I am, but it is no 
reason we should be dishonest because we are con- 
nected with racing.” 

“ There is no dishonesty about what we are 
doing,” said Kelly. “ I have had all the trouble of 
training this colt, and it would be far more dishonest 
to do me out of the honest reward of my labor.” 

“Perhaps it would,” said Tom. At any rate, 
we will consider it in that light for the present. I 
don’t half like it, all the same, Kelly. I have a 
presentiment some trouble will come of it.” 

“ What trouble can possibly come of it ? ” said 
Jos Kelly. 

7 


98 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


Suppose Andrews came over here and saw the 
mare ” said Tom. 

'‘Well, Fm blessed,” said Kelly. You must 
have got a touch of the sun. Even supposing 
Andrews did come over here, how the devil could 
he get a look at the mare ? He might see the 
colt, but the mare — bosh ! you are dreaming, Mr. 
Wilde.” 

“ Perhaps I am,” said Tom. “ I should have 
considered any man a lunatic who told me that 
Arthur Newman and Hugh Ralton were on the 
same station, and yet it is true. Twelve months 
ago, had any one told me I should have knocked 
Hugh Ralton down in Mr. Rath’s grounds, I should 
have classed them in the lunacy brigade also. Yet 
both of these things have occurred, Kelly, and I 
should not be at all surprised if we get into a bother 
over this business.” 

“You want a tonic,” said Kelly. “ Come inside 
and try a nip of ‘ mountain dew.’ ” 

Jos Kelly’s whisky was good, and Tom felt better 
after it. He could not, however, shake off the idea 
that had taken possession of him that serious com- 
plications would arise over their possession of 
Mystery and his mysterious dam. 


IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY. 


99 


CHAPTER X. 

IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY. 

When Hugh Ralton left The Mount on his return 
to Sydney, he felt that Mr. Rath was not sorry he 
was going, and also that what he had said about the 
Wildes was not believed. 

Violet Rath was glad he was going. She hardly 
felt sure of herself while Ralton was in the house. 
The man fascinated her, although she knew he was a 
dangerous acquaintance. Bad as she knew Ralton to 
be, Violet Rath was the sort of woman to commit 
a grave indiscretion with him, to call it by no 
stronger term. She was glad, therefore, that the 
temptation was being removed from her path. 

Hugh Ralton had found an opportunity to see 
her alone again, and their meeting had been some- 
what painful to Violet. 

She liked Ralton well enough to conceal her grati- 
fication at his departure, and she was too vain 
to altogether cast such a man off from her list of 
admirers. 

She felt it might be years before she saw him 
again, if ever, and so she parted with him on more 
friendly terms than, being a wife, she ought to have 
done. 


loo 


ONLY A COMMONEJR. 


She even went so far as to let him kiss her before 
partings and Hugh Ralton made the most of the 
privilege, 

Violet Rath was, however, considerably relieved 
when she saw him leave the house. 

‘‘ He’s gone,” she said, with a half regretful sigh ; 
“ I hope I shall not see him again for a long time. 
He is a bad man, I feel sure, but still he interests 
me.” 

Strange are the wayward moods of such a woman 
as Violet Rath. She saw a great danger cleared out 
of her way, and yet she was regretful that it had 
gone, at the same time being relieved. As for 
William Rath, his honest nature told him that 
Hugh Ralton was not to be trusted. He dis- 
believed what he had said about the Wildes, and he 
was not sorry Tom had treated Ralton in the man- 
ner he had done. 

Hugh Ralton left The Mount with a feeling of 
bitterness in his heart towards the whole of the 
inmates. 

He hated William Rath, because he felt he de- 
spised him. He was not satisfied with the hold he 
had obtained over Violet Rath, and if the oppor- 
tunity came in his way again, he meant to use her 
as a means of revenge. As for Agnes Murray, he 
would have given a good deal to be even with her, 
for the snubbing he had received at her hands. 

He went on board the Oonah, and was soon on 
his way to Sydney. His trip had not been pleasant, 
although it had been successful from a business 
point of- view. 


IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY, 


lOI 


As the Oonah ploughed her way through the 
smooth water, he leaned over the side in deep 
thought, and, judging from the expression of his 
face, those thoughts were by no means pleasant. 

I would give a considerable sum,’’ he thought, 

to get even with that young cub, Tom Wilde. If 
I do get a chance he shall suffer for the insult I 
received. If I have patience, I have no doubt I shall 
find some means to make him sorry for that day’s 
work. He means to marry Agnes Murray, I 
suppose ; I wish him joy of the union. Violet’s 
worth a dozen such insipid girls. By Jove, I half 
wish I had persuaded her to come with me. She’s 
vain enough and conceited enough, and I think she 
is fond of me, although a bit afraid of me.” 

As he looked at the blue water through which 
the steamer now glided at the rate of about four- 
teen knots, he started. 

He fancied he had seen the reflection of a face in 
the water, and it was not his own. It was the face 
of Ada Lawton, and it was so plainly seen that he 
involuntarily cast a glance behind him to see who 
had caused the reflection. 

He only saw the captain standing chatting with 
a passenger, and laughed at himself for the strange 
fancy, for fancy he knew it must be. 

He did not sleep well that night. The face he 
had seen reflected on the water haunted him. 

Once he woke with a start. He fancied he heard 
Ada Lawton’s voice. Bah ! What silly fancies had 
got into his head. 

When the Oonah reached Sydney it was too late 


102 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


to go on to Bullerana Station that night, so he 
drove to the Oxford Hotel, and after dinner sat in 
the smoking-room reading the paper. 

There was nothing in it to interest him. He 
turned it over and scanned the cablegrams, glanced 
at the sporting items, and then cast his eyes down 
the shipping column. 

An exclamation of surprise came from his lips. 

He was reading the passenger list of the R. M. S. 
Ormuz, and there he saw the name in the first 
saloon list. Miss Lawton. 

“Curious coincidence,” he thought. “ How that 
name has haunted me the last couple of days. Of 
course there are scores of Lawtons in the world. 
The name is common enough. It is not at all likely 
to be my dear Ada. She would never come out 
here, although I believe she would have followed 
me wherever I went in England. Luckily, I am not 
in that tight little island. If she did follow me here 
— well,” his brow contracted, and a hard, cruel look 
came into his face, “ it would be the worse for her. 
Confound it, what am I thinking about? Ada 
Lawton is about the last person in the world to 
leave her home. If her father is dead she might 
travel, but it is not likely she would go much further 
than the Continent.” 

Hugh Ralton rang the bell, and ordered a brandy 
and soda. He drank it, and then, lighting a cigar, 
went outside. 

It was a warm, pleasant night ; not too hot, and 
with a cool, refreshing breeze blowing from the 
harbor over the city. Ralton was not much of a 


IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY. 


103 


lover of nature. He was too selfish to see or feel 
its many beauties. A soft, calm night had no sooth- 
ing effect upon his nerves. He took nature as a 
matter of course, with a callous indifference that 
would have exasperated a man with any depth of 
feeling and appreciation of life. He was not the 
man to thank his Creator he was alive, and in the 
enjoyment of good health. 

Sydney on such a night as this is a pleasant city 
to live in. Its numerous parks are thronged with a 
variety of people who come out to enjoy a quiet 
chat or smoke in the cool of the evening, and cast 
off the cares of the day for a time. 

The Queen City of the South might be termed 
the “ city of parks,” for it is happily supplied with 
numerous beauty spaces. 

Hyde Park is one of Sydney's healthiest lungs, so 
to speak. The vast open space between Oxford 
Square and Oxford Street is in the heart of the city 
which pulsates around it, and to this grand public 
pleasaiince Sydney is indebted for its healthiness. 

On this particular night the numerous seats were 
all occupied with idlers. Here and there a group of 
men were having an animated discussion on the 
political and social topics of the day. Young men 
with their sweethearts were wandering quietly along 
the walks, absorbed in each other, and taking life, 
as most colonials do, easily. There were scores of 
loafers, some on the lookout for a camping ground 
for the night, for the Sydney parks and the Domain 
are favorite sleeping grounds for the idle and 
dissolute. 


104 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Some curious sights can be seen in these parks 
after midnight, men and women sleeping off the 
day’s debauch, and feeling comfortable in the balmy 
night air. 

What tales of shame and depravity these parks 
could tell ! What horrible degradations many of 
the men and women who make them their sleeping 
grounds go through ! 

The habitual Domain and Park loafers can easily 
be sorted out in the daytime. The same faces can 
be-seen on the same seats day after day. 

In the morning between eight and nine, there is a 
constant stream of people hurrying through the park 
on their way to business in the city. These workers 
pass the idlers sitting on the seats, and they can 
detect the half-sleepy look of these men, who have 
just risen from their open-air camp. 

Hugh Ralton strolled across the square, past the 
Queen’s Statue, and entered the broad avenue of 
huge fig-trees which line either side of the centre 
pathway. 

He was in no very amiable mood. He felt upset. 
The name of Miss Lawton in the passenger-list had 
troubled him more than he cared to acknowledge. 
Not that he feared Ada Lawton, even if she had 
followed him to Australia, but it would be a nuisance 
and a trouble to him if she were here. He knew 
she was not a woman to be put off with a word, or 
even a threat. If she chose she could be very 
troublesome, and cause him a lot of annoyance. 

He sat down on one of the vacant seats. Before 
he had rested more than a few minutes a woman in 


IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY. 105 

a ragged dress, and who had evidently been drink- 
ing freely, staggered up to the seat and fell; rather 
than sat down upon it. 

Ralton looked at her in disgust. He did not pity 
the unfortunate wretch. Not he. Ralton had no 
pity for any human being ; he lavished all the pity 
he had in him on himself. 

The woman’s heavy breath poisoned the fragrance 
of the air, which was laden with the sweet scents of 
the sleeping flowers. 

She gave a hoarse cough and put her hand on her 
bare chest, as though the effort pained her. 

Her bonnet was awry, and her hair half tumbled 
down and unkempt. Her dress was unbuttoned at 
the throat, and her boots were down at heel and 
much the worse for wear. Her stockings could be 
seen peeping through the toes of her boots, and her 
dress was all frayed and draggled at the bottom. 

Her whole appearance was calculated to inspire 
disgust, and also pity. Her face had once been 
fair to look upon. 

The regular features were disfigured by drink and 
dissipation, and she had lost all self-respect. She' was 
an outcast of the Sydney streets. The parks were 
her home when she was not in the cells or in 
prison. 

“ Give me a bob, boss,” she said, in a thick tone 
of voice. You’ll never miss it, and I’m beastly 
hard up.” 

^‘You’re drunk,” said Ralton. 

And what if I am ? ” she said. ‘‘ What if I am 
drunk ? What’s that to you ? If you give me a 


io6 ONLY A COMMONER. 

bob, I’ll get more drink. You see I’ll not tell you 
a lie, bad as I am.” 

^'You ought to be locked up,” said Ralton. 

You’re a beast.” 

He liked to torment this poor fallen creature. 

Beast, am I ? It’s the likes o’ you made me a 
beast. Curse you men. Give me a bob, gover- 
nor. 

I’ll have you locked up,” he said. 

Will you ? ’’ she said, in a louder voice, stagger- 
ing to her feet. Do you think that’ll be anything 
fresh. Locked up. Ha, ha, ha ! Why, I’ve been 
locked up so many times, the ‘ beak ’ has had to 
have a special book made to record my convictions. 
Locked up. Well, I never! That’s a new idea of 
yours, ain’t it, governor ? ” 

A young ragged newspaper urchin was going past 
at the time. He evidently knew the woman.. 

Halloa, Lady Jane,” he called out, won’t the 
swell give yer his arm ? You ain’t got yer best togs 
on. Mind yer eye, sir. She’s dangerous. Lady 
Jane’s a smasher, that’s what she is.” 

The woman turned round in a perfect fury, and 
made a dart at the urchin, but he was too nimble 
for her, and dodged behind a tree. 

Not very steady on yer pins. Lady Jane,” he 
yelled. ‘‘ Take a rest. Where do you doss to- 
night ? ” 

She glared at the grinning lad, and then sat down 
again. 

“ I’ll bid you good-night, Lady Jane,” said Ralton. 

Pleasant dreams.” 


IN HYDE PARK, SYDNEY 


107 

‘‘ Curse you,” said the woman. You are a bad 
lot, I can tell by your face.” 

Ralton turned on her savagely. A little thing 
annoyed him in his present mood. 

You drunken beast, hold your tongue. Go and 
drown yourself in the harbor. That’s the best 
sleeping ground for such as you.** 

“Ha, ha! that’s good,” shrieked the woman. 
“ I’ve tried it, you brute. I’ve tried it. They 
would not let me drown. Curse ’em, they pulled 
me out. I’d been at rest now if they had let me 
alone.” 

“ A pity they did not,” said Ralton. “ Here, 
hands off.” 

The woman had laid hold of the sleeve of his 
coat. 

“ Give me a bob, governor. I’m starving,” she 
said. 

“ Then starve,” said Ralton, giving her a push 
that sent her staggering to the seat. 

She was up again in a moment. In her drunken 
fury she seemed to have found strength. 

The seat was near one of the numerous lamps in 
the park, and shone full upon the distorted coun- 
tenance of the woman. 

So horrible did she look that even Hugh Ralton 
shuddered. 

She raised her arms and pointed at him. 

“ Curse you,” she shrieked at the top of her voice. 
“ May you be dragged down as low as I am. May 
you know what it is to starve, and may you die like 
a dog. Curse you, whoever you are.” 


io8 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Again she staggered towards Ralton. He gave 
her a violent blow on the chest, and she fell in a 
heap on the pathway. 

He stood looking at her for a moment as a small 
knot of people gathered round the fallen woman. 

The little newspaper lad, who had jeered at her 
and called her Lady Jane, said : 

Here, gi’e us a hand and lift her under the 
fence. She’ll sleep it off by morning. If the 
copper comes he’ll run her in.’^ 

“You coward to hit a woman,” said a voice be- 
hind him, that made him start as though he had been 
struck a violent blow. 

He turned round quickly, and stood face to face 
with Ada Lawton. 


ADA LAWTON. 


109 


CHAPTER XL 

ADA LAWTON. 

It was a strange meeting between Ada Lawton 
and Hugh Ralton in Hyde Park under the shadow 
of the gaslight, which reflected all kinds of fantastic 
shapes on the scene, from the huge fig-trees over- 
head. 

When Ralton turned at the words she had spoken, 
Ada Lawton gave him such a look of intense hatred 
and loathing that he felt cowed and ashamed before 
her. 

She had been in his mind for the past few days, 
and now she stood before him in the flesh, wither- 
ing him with the pitiless scorn of her beautiful eyes. 

Fate had brought them together again in this 
strange manner. 

When Ada Lawton saw the twinkling lights of 
the mail steamer, as she lay at anchor in the beauti- 
ful bay of Naples, she had quickly made up her 
mind what to do. 

She determined to go to Australia by the next 
Orient liner, and her faithful attendant and com- 
panion had acquiesced without a murmur. 

Ada Lawton, once she made up her mind to a 
certain course of action, chafed at all delays. 


no 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


By the time the Ormuz arrived at Naples she was 
ready to sail, and when she was safely on board and 
saw the coast vanishing from sight, as the steamer 
cut through the blue water of the Mediterranean, 
she felt happier than she had done for a long 
time. 

It was a mad freak, she acknowledged, but there 
was a certain charm about it which pleased her. 

The voyage out was pleasant enough, and an at- 
tractive woman such as Ada Lawton was undoubt- 
edly soon had plenty of admirers. 

She made use of these admirers, who were only 
too ready to exert themselves on her behalf, and to 
fetch and carry for her whenever she so desired. 

It amused her to watch the envious glances of the 
other passengers of her own sex, who certainly did 
not get on so well with the men. 

Ada Lawton had no fixed idea in her mind as to 
what she should do when she reached Sydney, or 
what course of action she should pursue when she 
met Hugh Ralton, as she felt certain she must do. 

It was a mere chance took her and her companion 
into Hyde Park on this particular night. 

Ada Lawton was not like other women. She had 
been accustomed to do as she pleased all her life, 
and so when she elected to take a walk in the park 
at night there was no one to say her nay. 

She looked very handsome, and very proud, and 
she seemed to tower over Ralton in her anger. 

She had recognized him at a distance, and had 
watched him conversing with, the unfortunate 
woman he had so rudely pushed to the ground. 


ADA LA JVTOAT. 


Ill 


It was so like Hugh Ralton to insult and jibe at 
the poor lost creature. 

If Ada Lawton had despised him before, she de- 
spised him fourfold now. 

“ So we have met again, Hugh Ralton,” she said. 
‘‘You have not changed for the better. Still a per- 
secutor and insulter of women.” 

She spoke bitterly, and her words cut him like a 
knife, because he knew they were deserved. 

“ Which way are you going ? ” he said. “ Do not 
stand talking here attracting attention.” 

She walked on, and he walked at her side. 

When they had left the small group of people be- 
hind, she stopped, and looking him in the face, said : 

“ Do you know why I am here, Hugh ? ” 

“ How the devil should I know ? ” he said. “ Came 
for the benefit of your health, I suppose.” 

“ I came to make you marry me, Hugh Ralton,” 
she said. “ There is no love lost between us, I know, 
but you are the only man who ought to be my hus- 
band, and you must give me that doubtful satisfac- 
tion.” 

“ Indeed,” he said, with a sneer. “I should have 
thought a handsome woman like you would have 
solaced yourself with a husband more to your taste 
by this time. It does not say much for your powers 
of fascination that you have not done so.” 

“You know well enough, Hugh Ralton, that I 
can give no honorable man my hand. There is a fatal 
barrier between me and any man who may love me. 
I have sinned, and I must pay the penalty. You 


I 12 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


caused me to sin, and you must take the conse- 
quences/' 

‘‘ Old-fashioned ideas of honesty," he said. My 
dear Ada, you ought to have lived in the days of 
chivalry, when honorable men and women were more 
plentiful than they are now." 

Had I lived then I should have escaped meeting 
you," she said. “ There is no honor or chivalry 
about you, Hugh Ralton." 

So you have actually followed me to Australia 
with the intention of marrying me," he said. “ It is 
an honor I did not expect. Such devotion touches 
me. I have half a mind to grant your request." 

“ It will be better for you if you do," she said, 
quietly, yet firmly. 

“ And suppose I decline to marry you, my dear 
Ada. What shall you do under those circum- 
stances?" he asked. 

“ It will be time enough for me to consider what 
I shall do if you refuse to make me this small rep- 
aration. The woman who marries you, Hugh Ral- 
ton, naturally degrades herself. I am willing to put 
up with the degradation of having such a man for 
my husband. It is part of the punishment I have 
determined to undergo for my folly," she said. 

Ralton began to think it time to put a stop to this 
farce. He had no intention of marrying Ada Law- 
ton, and he did not think she was in earnest. 

Come, Ada," he said in a milder tone of voice, 
we may as well be friends now you are here, but 
you know I can never marry you, nor do I think 
you desire me for a husband." 


ADA LAPFTOJ\r. 


1 13 

Friends we can never be,” she said ; ^^your wife 
I must be, Hugh Ralton. Marry me and leave me 
to myself, if you desire, but marry me you shall. I 
will force you to do it.” 

‘‘You are a fool, Ada. You always were head- 
strong and wilful.” 

“ It was my wilfulness gave you the hold you ob- 
tained over me. You must not trifle with me now. 
I say you shall marry me.” 

He laughed a bitter, sarcastic laugh, and said : 

“ This is a strange wooing, Ada. I must decline 
your offer with thanks. You would not suit me, 
and I should not suit you.” 

“You shall never marry any other woman,” she 
said. 

“ Indeed. Who will prevent me ? ” 

“ I will,” she said. 

“ How ? ” he asked. 

“ If I hear of your engagement to another woman, 
I will find that woman out, I will go to her, and 
shame myself before her. I will tell her who and 
what you are, Hugh Ralton. Aye, I will even tell 
her what you have been to me, and what I have 
been to you. I will tell her more. She shall know 
not only of my dishonor and your infamy, but she 
shall know you are what I know you to be, a forger 
and a thief, Hugh Ralton.” 

Ralton turned livid with mingled feelings of rage 
and fear. How much of his past life did Ada Law- 
ton know? Would she dare do these things if oc- 
casion offered ? As he looked at her he felt that she 
would. 

8 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


I14 

For a few moments he could not answer her. 
Then he turned upon her in a savage burst of pas- 
sion, and said : 

Be careful, Ada Lawton, how you interfere with 
me and my plans. I warn you to be careful. I am 
not a man to be trifled with. You have brought all 
this upon yourself. If you had not yielded, only 
too readily, you would have been 

He did not finish the sentence. She looked at him 
with such a dangerous light in her eyes, that he hesi- 
tated to taunt her further. 

I yielded readily, I ? ” she said, with suppressed 
passion. You villain ! You coward, to utter such 
a lie. You used all the vile arts in which you are 
such a master to tempt an innocent girl from the 
straight path, and then you taunt me with having 
yielded readily. Did you not tempt me week after 
week, month after month, with your lying promises? 
Oh, how I have hated myself for yielding to such a 
man.'’ She shuddered and drew away from him. 

“ It is getting late,” he said, ‘‘and the park is no 
place for you at this hour. I should be sorry to see 
you lose your reputation in Sydney,” he sneered. 

They had reached the entrance to Oxford Square, 
and Ada Lawton felt she could do or say no more 
that night. 

She left him without a word, and walked quickly 
across the square with her companion. 

Hugh Ralton looked after them with a dark scowl 
on his face, then he moodily walked towards the 
hotel thinking over the adventures of the night. 

He was not in an enviable frame of mind. He 


ADA LA WTO N'. 1 15 

knew Ada Lawton was a woman of great determina- 
tion. 

It had been his intention to settle down when a 
favorable opportunity offered, and he felt pretty 
certain he could obtain a suitable partner for life 
when he chose to look around. 

Ada Lawton, however, would be a serious stum- 
bling block in his way if he ever contemplated a 
step in this direction. 

And what of Ada Lawton ? When she reached 
her apartments, she sank into a chair, and seemed 
overcome with a sense of shame and degradation. 

By nature she was a proud, sensitive woman. 
She had committed her fault, and but for that she 
might have been a different woman and become a 
loving and honored wife. 

It was because she was proud and sensitive that 
she felt she could never marry any man other than 
Hugh Ralton. 

There was no reason why she should marry him ; 
there were many reasons why it would be better she 
should not do so. 

But to Ada Lawton it appeared to be a stern duty 
for her to marry this man. Hate him and despise 
him as she always must, yet she felt it would ease her 
conscience and clear her name if she married him. 

Hugh Ralton was the man she ought to marry, 
and she determined he should carry out the contract. 
If he refused to marry her she must be revenged 
upon him for the wrong he had done her, and this 
she determined to do, no matter what the con- 
sequences to herself. 


ii6 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


She was a strange woman ; she hardly knew her- 
self yet. No man had ever won her heart ; she did 
not know what love was. Her one desire was to rid 
herself of the burning shame which seemed to eat 
into her very soul and poison her whole life. 

She thought of nothing else. There are women 
who think lightly of such things, and who see no 
harm in hiding their sin as best they can. 

Ada Lawton was not as these women are. Her 
life had been poisoned by her early folly and indis- 
cretion. She only saw one means of honorable 
redemption, and that was to marry the man who 
had wronged her. 

It may have been quixotic to make this the sole 
aim of her life, but she thought it right, and there- 
fore should be honored for attempting it. 

She was not the woman to give any man a tainted 
love. 

Her sufferings would be great if she ever truly 
loved any man, but to wrong that man was not in 
Ada Lawton’s nature. She was capable of as strong 
affection as any woman. She could hate thoroughly, 
and could have loved thoroughly and truly. 

Hugh Ralton had, however, crossed her path and 
imbittered her life, and she was brave enough to 
bear the consequences. She made no excuse for 
herself. She had sinned, and she must bear the 
penalty of her sin. 

Ada Lawton had never been tempted by love. 
She had never known how hard it is to resist the 
call of love. When that time came, if ever it did 
come, would she have power to resist ? She had 
never seriously asked herself the question. 


BULLERANA STATION, 


llj 


CHAPTER XIL 

BULLERANA STATION. 

There are several large stud farms in New South 
Wales, and Bullerana is one of the best. It is situated 
in the Clarence River district, and George Andrews, 
the owner, was one of the richest and most popular 
men in that fertile country. He had been in the 
colonies many years — ever since he was ten years 
old — and his father had been successful, and able to 
give his son a good start in life. 

George Andrews was a widower about forty-five 
years of age, and had an only child, a daughter, Edith, 
just twelve years old. 

Edith Andrews, as might be expected, was a spoilt 
child, and the idol of her father ; but she was not 
spoilt in the sense generally understood by that 
obnoxious word. She was a beautiful, lovable girl, 
with an amiable disposition, and a high spirit, which 
was seldom daunted. She was almost too daring for 
her years. Edith Andrews could ride as well as a 
man, and it took a very fiery horse indeed to get rid 
of her. Her father could hardly bear her out of his 
sight, and consequently she had been educated so 
far on the station. George Andrews, however, 
thought it would be for her advantage to go to a 


Il8 ONLY A COMMONER, 

good school in Sydney to finish, but he had not 
broached the question to her as yet. 

Arthur Newman was a great favorite with Edith, 
but she had taken a great dislike to Hugh Ralton. 
Children are often good judges of character, and in 
this case Edith Andrews’ judgment had not failed her. 

When Ralton returned to Bullerana he got no 
welcome from the child, and he resented her ill-con- 
cealed dislike to him. 

His meeting with Ada Lawton had not put him 
in a good humor, and he felt inclined to find fault 
with everyone. He had accomplished his business to 
the satisfaction of George Andrews, and the owner 
of Bullerana Station did not share the mistrust his 
daughter had in Ralton. 

Arthur Newman had received Tom Wilde’s letter 
during Ralton’s absence, and he had no doubt the 
mare Abduction had been at one time the property 
of George Andrews. It would, however, be hard 
lines, he thought, for Tom to be deprived of a chance 
of winning a good race with her colt, and therefore 
he kept the matter to himself. 

About a week after Ralton’s return Newman 
missed Tom Wilde’s letter. He could not imagine 
where he had mislaid it. He was angry with him- 
self because he had not destroyed it. If it fell into 
the possession of Ralton it might be a serious matter. 

Hugh Ralton had not forgotten the blow Tom 
Wilde had given him at The Mount, and he con- 
stantly brooded over some means by which he could 
do him an injury. 

As fate would have it, Ralton found the letter 


BULLERANA STATIC) AT. 


119 

Arthur Newman had received from Tom Wilde. It 
had evidently fallen out of Newman’s pocket, for 
Ralton discovered it in one of his loose-boxes. He 
read it through twice before he grasped the full 
meaning of its contents. Then he saw what a hold 
the possession of such a letter would give him over 
Tom Wilde. 

It was quite evident from the tenor of the note 
that Tom knew, or fancied he knew, the mare had 
been stolen, and also that he had an idea to whom 
she belonged. 

He put the letter in his pocket-book, and resolved 
to make use of it when he saw an opportunity. He 
thought it would be a good plan to say nothing until 
a few weeks before the Hobart Cup was to be run. 
He would then place the matter before Mr. Andrews 
and induce him to run over to Hobart and stop the 
colt from running in the Cup, if possible. First of 
all he must find out if Mr. Andrews had any idea 
where this particular mare had got to. This was not 
a difficult task, as he generally had a chat with Mr. 
Andrews at night, and occasionally Arthur Newman 
was present. 

One night George Andrews led up to the subject 
by remarking that he had not missed a single horse 
from the farm during the ye^r, 

Have you often had horses stolen ? ” asked Ralton. 

“ Yes. Before you came, Ralton, I had several 
stolen. I think you must keep a sharp eye on them,” 
said Andrews. 

I merely do my duty,” said Ralton. I pity 
the beggar I caught trying that game on here,” 


120 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


I missed a splendid mare,” said Andrews, about 
three years ago. She was a real beauty. I cannot 
make out what became of her. She was by Splendor 
out of Remorse, one of the best mares in the stud. 
I should know her anywhere if I came across her.” 

“Have you never tried to trace her?” said 
Ralton. “ A valuable mare like that ought to be 
worth trying to find.” 

“ So she is, and I’d give a hundred to get her 
back. It is not the way to find a mare like that by 
advertising or putting the police on the track. The 
better plan is to let the whole business rest until the 
thief or thieves become confident and careless. A 
mare like that is sure to throw something that can 
race; in fact, she was in foal to Trenton when she 
was missed.” 

“ By Jove, what a young one she would throw,” 
said Ralton ; and bethought, “ Now, Mr. Tom Wilde, 
I shall be able to snatch the cup of victory from 
your lips at the last moment.” 

“ Her foal must have been a clinker,” said 
Andrews ; “ it is through the foal I expect to get 
hold of the mare, and the party who stole her.” 

“ How ? ” asked Ralton. 

“ In this way. The colt or filly, whichever it may 
be, is sure to be worth racing, and when in training 
it is probable whoever has it will try and find out 
how it is bred. If I see a colt entered for an im- 
portant race with pedigree unknown after his name, 
you may bet I shall make some inquiries about him. 
There are very few horses entered whose pedigrees 
are unknown, and it is odds on if the race is a good 


BULLERANA STATION. 


I2I 


one, and such a colt is worth entering for it, that he 
is a good bred one. As I said before, I could tell 
the mare anywhere, and I should not be slow to have 
a search for the dam of the gentleman entered with 
the pedigree unknown.’* 

A good idea,” said Ralton ; “we must keep a 
sharp lookout amongst the entries during the 
season.” 

Hugh Ralton was elated at the remarks made by 
George Andrews. He saw at once that if Tom 
Wilde and his trainer entered the colt for the 
Hobart Cup, it would have to be with pedigree un- 
known. In that case he could point out the entry 
to Andrews, and induce him to go over to Hobart 
in order to find out what the dam of the colt was 
like. 

Hugh Ralton felt he would have very little diffi- 
culty in persuading Andrews to go to Tasmania 
under these circumstances. 

Once there it would be time enough to think what 
he should do. 

He wanted to place Tom Wilde in a very awk- 
ward position, in fact he meant to have him arrested 
if the evidence in his possession warranted such a 
course being taken. 

He would like to shame Tom Wilde on the race- 
course before all his friends, and just before the race 
for the Cup in which the colt was to take part. 

Hugh Ralton chuckled to himself as he thought 
of all this, and he knew in Tom’s letter to Newman 
he held a trump card which made out a very strong 
case against young Wilde. 


122 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Ralton was so elated at the chance of paying Tom 
Wilde out that he had almost forgotten his meeting 
with Ada Lawton. 

He was therefore unpleasantly surprised when he 
received a letter from her about a fortnight after his 
return to Bullerana. 

How she had discovered his whereabouts he could 
not imagine. He forgot that the manager of such 
an important stud farm as Bullerana was sure to be 
well known in Sydney, and that a few inquiries 
made by the proper person would quickly disclose 
his address. 

Ada Lawton’s letter was more temperate than 
might have been expected. As Hugh Ralton read 
it his feelings towards her changed perceptibly. 

After all he had been very fond in his selfish way 
of Ada in the old days, when she had been a very 
pleasant companion. 

She had money, and he might do worse after all 
than marry her. 

Ada Lawton was still a handsome woman, and a 
wife many men would be proud of. He had sense 
enough to know it would be a difficult matter for 
him to find a better match. 

The one thing he could not quite understand was 
why she wanted to marry him. He laughed at the 
reason she had given him for wishing to become his 
wife. He had not much faith in women, and his 
nature was too depraved to understand Ada Lawton’s 
motives. 

He fancied she must have some plan of revenge 
in view, and yet from the tpi^e of her letter this 


BULLERAAA STATION. 


123 


seemed impossible. The more he thought over the 
matter the more he felt inclined to yield. 

He had money and Ada had money, and between 
them they would have a very respectable income. 

He saw no reason why Ada should not come and 
live with him at Bullerana. George Andrews had 
often asked him if he had never thought of getting 
married, and had hinted that a suitable wife would 
be an acquisition to the household at Bullerana, and 
might be a nice companion for Edith. In reply to 
Ralton’s question, George Andrews with a saddened 
face had said emphatically that he should never 
marry again. 

Another motive Ralton had for considering the 
advisability of marrying Ada Lawton was that it 
would place her in his power. He would then be 
able to pay her out for the harsh words she had used 
towards him when they met in Hyde Park. 

He had not forgiven her for calling him a coward, 
a thief, a forger, and he never would forgive her. 

Ada Lawton would be a wife men would envy him 
of, and yet he could make her life a misery in many 
ways, without being openly hostile towards her. 

If he wished to indulge in mild flirtations, such as 
he had enjoyed with Violet Rath, Ada could not 
very well interfere. 

She would as his wife be compelled to overlook 
any infidelities he might be guilty of, because he had 
a hold over her in the reason she had given for 
marrying him. 

Hugh Ralton was brute enough to contemplate 
marrying Ada Lawton, and then making her do as 


124 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


he desired, by threatening to reveal what had hap- 
pened between them in the past. 

If Ada Lawton had thoroughly grasped Hugh 
Ralton’s nature, even she would have hesitated before 
taking him for her husband. 

Ada Lawton fancied she hated Hugh Ralton, and 
after the meeting in the park she felt sure that was 
her feeling towards him. 

Her companion and maid, Susan Holmes, who was 
ten years her senior, and had been with her for many 
years, judged her better than she judged herself. 

Susan Holmes knew that in her heart of hearts Ada 
Lawton still loved Hugh Ralton, bad as he was, and 
as she knew him to be. 

A word dropped now and again, a murmur in her 
sleep, and many such indications, told Susan Holmes 
the real state of Ada Lawton’s feelings. 

She was sorry for her mistress, but, like the faith- 
ful woman she was, she meant to stand by her. 

The more Ada Lawton railed against Hugh Ralton 
the more Susan Holmes found she felt her feelings 
towards him were less bitter. 

Susan, I must write to him,” said Ada Lawton, 
a couple of days before Hugh Ralton received her 
letter. 

Very well, deary,” said Susan, '' write. But he’s 
a bad lot. If I were you I would have nothing more 
to do with him.” 

He ought to marry me, Susan. You know he 
ought,” said Ada. '‘You are the only one who 
knows my secret.” 

"You are far better off as you are,” said Susan, 


BULLERANA STA TION. 125 

Better remain single all your life than marry such 
a man/’ 

There is no harm in writing to him, is there, 
Susan ? Perhaps I was too bitter, too angry with 
him the night we met,” said Ada. 

Not a bit of it,” said Susan. He got what he 
deserved. Hitting a woman indeed. The brute ! 
He will be like enough to hit you if you marry 
him.” 

Ada said no more then, but she wrote to Ralton 
all the same. I have written to him, Susan,” she 
said. 

And I hope he will take no notice of it,” said 
Susan. You are a hundred times too good for him. 
All Tm afraid of is he will want to marry you in real 
earnest on his own account, and that would be a 
calamity.” 

Do you think he is so very bad ? ” asked Ada. 

He was a different man when I first knew him.” 

‘‘ He’s as bad as a man can be,” said Susan. 
Then she added earnestly: ‘^promise me one thing, 
deary, if you ever do marry Hugh Ralton, make 
him promise to let me remain with you. You 
might want my help some day.” 

I shall never part with you, Susan,” said Ada, 
fondly. You have been such a good faithful 
friend in the past.” 

Ada Lawton came into the room one morning 
with a letter in her hand, and giving it to Susan, 
said : 

“ Hugh is not quite so bad after all. Read that, 
Susan.” 


126 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Susan Holmes read the letter Hugh Ralton had 
written to Ada. 

It was a plausible letter, and in it he apologized 
for his past conduct. He said he had thought over 
all Ada had said to him, and that if she still con- 
sidered it her duty to marry him, in order to con- 
done the past, he would accede to her wishes and 
endeavor to make her happy. He said they could 
reside at Bullerana after they were married, and that 
Mr. Andrews, to whom he had mentioned the 
matter, desired that the marriage should take place 
at his house. He left it to Ada to fix the date, and 
trusted that the past would be forgotten, and they 
would live for the future alone. 

Susan Holmes did not like the letter, but she 
would not crush Ada’s feelings by saying so. 

She saw through Hugh Ralton’s plausible words. 
There was a false ring about them, and she feared 
for Ada accordingly. 

Once in his power, there’s no telling what he 
will not do,” thought Susan. This strange notion 
of Ada’s that she is bound in honor to marry the 
man, is absurd. I believe she has some love for 
him, but it is the other feeling urges her on.” 

As for Hugh Ralton, now he had made up his 
mind he felt a grim satisfaction in the prospect of 
Ada Lawton becoming his wife. 

She says she ought to be my wife and she shall,” 
he muttered. ‘‘When you are my wife, Ada, you 
will have to do as I wish. It will be very unpleasant 
for you if you do not obey me. I will marry you 
and redeem the past as you call it. I shall not for- 


BULLERANA STATION. 


127 

get that past, however, and perhaps it will be neces- 
sary at times to remind you of it/* 

Many strange marriages are made, and Ada Law- 
ton’s determination to marry Hugh Ralton added 
another to the long list. 


128 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


CHAPTER XIII. 

PEDIGREE UNKNOWN. 

When the entries for the Hobart Cup were made 
public, one that caused a good deal of comment was 
“ Messrs. Kelly and Wilde’s br. c. Mystery, 3 yrs., 
pedigree unknown, out of black mare Abduction.” 

Such an unusual thing as a colt entered for an 
important race, and having no pedigree to recom- 
mend him, attracted attention. 

In sporting circles In Hobart there was a con- 
siderable amount of conjecture as to the reason why 
such an astute man as Kelly had been persuaded by 
his partner in the colt to enter him. 

It was not conceded for one moment that Kelly 
had entered the colt of his own free will. He would 
have more sense than that. It must be that hot- 
headed, impetuous Tom Wilde^ who thought all his 
geese were swans. 

Some people even went so far as to say that old 
John Wilde ought really to exercise more control 
over his son, or he would come to a bad end. 

Many people knew the colt had been in constant 
work on the track at Elwick, but that did not satisfy 
them. 

Nothing without a pedigree could possibly win 
the Hobart Cup. If the colt had a pedigree then 


PEDIGREE UNKNOWN. 


129 


the general surmise was that Jos Kelly was up to 
his old tricks again, and was trying to ring ” in 
something good. 

This, however, he would hardly be likely to risk, 
for it would be sure to leak out sooner or later how 
and where the colt was bred. 

At the Hobart Club and Tattersall’s and in most 
of the sporting bars in the city, the conclusion ar- 
rived at was that Kelly had given in to Tom Wilde, 
and to please him had entered Mystery in their joint 
names. 

There was one man who did not think in this wise, 
and that was Detective Shanklin. 

Detective Shanklin was a shrewd, energetic officer 
when occasion required, although he had not much 
opportunity in Hobart for exercising his skill. 

He loved a good horse, in fact he had one of his 
own, and, moreover, he was a good judge. 

It had often puzzled Shanklin as to where Mys- 
tey hailed from and what his breeding was. He 
had seen the colt at work, and formed a high esti- 
mate of his galloping powers. It was by no means 
improbable this colt, with the pedigree unknown,” 
thought Shanklin, would win the Cup with a light 
weight, and he was sure to get that.” 

As Detective Shanklin sat ruminating in the old- 
fashioned police-office in Hobart, he turned over the 
Mercury., and scanned the sporting columns. 

‘‘Nothing fresh,” he muttered to himself, “blest 
if there ever is anything fresh in this place; Td just 
like a good case to turn up. Tm getting rusty. 
Hullo! what’s that?” 

9 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


There was a row in the police-office yard, and De- 
tective Shanklin went outside. 

He saw a powerful woman struggling with a 
couple of police officers. 

Here, you hold your row. We can’t have the 
place turned into a bear-garden. What’s up with 
her? ” 

“ Been trying to poison herself,” said one of the 
officers. 

“ It’s a lie,” shrieked the woman ; I never tried 
to poison myself ; let me go. Look here, Shanklin, 
you know me.” 

Let’s have a look at you,” said Shanklin. Hullo ! 
why, it’s Polly Fenton. Good Heavens ! what are 
you doing here ? ” 

You may well ask that,” she said ; that brute 
of a husband of mine’s deserted me these three 
years. Never set eyes on him since he came to 
Hobart.” 

''Eh?” said Shanklin, surprised; "I didn’t know 
you were married.” 

" You know me. Isn’t that enough for you,” 
grumbled the woman. 

" Here, bring her inside,” said Shanklin, as he led 
the way into the office. " Let her go ; she will come 
in right enough.” 

The officers evidently did not care to let go of 
their lawful spoil, but they reluctantly obeyed the 
order of their superior. They kept a watchful eye 
on the movements of Polly Fenton as she followed 
Shanklin into the office. 

" If he’d had as much trouble to nab her as we’ve 


PEDIGREE UNKNOWN. 


had he’d not be so quick at letting her go,” said one 
of the policemen. 

“ She’s the toughest bit of feminine ferocity I have 
handled formally a day,” replied the other officer; 
‘ wonder where Shanklin met her.” 

Blest if I know, you’d better ask him. Not that 
he’s likely to tell you much for your pains. He’s a 
cute man, is Shanklin, and not a bad sort either.” 

No, he’s not,” was the reply. 

It was evident the officers had a good opinion of 
Djtective Shanklin. 

Polly Fenton sat down at the table in front of 
ihanklin’s desk. She was not a bad-looking woman 
')y any means, but it was clear she had seen better 
days. 

Shanklin looked at her in silence for some minutes 
-.nd his eyes glistened. 

He had known Polly Fenton when she was a bon- 
;i'c Hobart lass, with the pure, healthy, rosy com- 
Ijxion so often seen in the Tasmanian girls. She 
.V :is a waitress then at one of the leading hotels, and 
Shanklin had been partial to her society. What a 
( oatrast there was between the woman he had 
known and the Polly Fenton who sat before him. 

“ Don’t look at me like that,” she said. ‘WVhat 
are you thinking about ^ ” 

“ Old times,” he said. Polly, what’s brought 
you down like this ? ” 

He spoke kindly, and he touched the right chord 
in her heart. 

Polly Fenton sobbed bitterly, and Shanklin took 
up the paper and pretended to read. 


132 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


When the woman had become calmer, he asked : 

Is there any truth in this charge the officers have 
made against you ? Tell me the truth. Don't be 
afraid. No lies, mind. The truth, Polly P^enton, 
and ril stand your friend.” 

She knew Shanklin well enough to know he meant 
what he said. 

Yes, it is true,” she replied. 

“What has brought you to such a pass?” he 
asked. “ Surely you cannot be tired of your life yet.” 

“ Oh, I am,” she cried. “ Tm tired to death of it. 
Drag, drag, drag from morning till night for a bare 
subsistence, and if I don't do that it must be some- 
thing worse.” 

“ You say you were married. Where is your hus- 
band ? ” asked Shanklin. “ Has he deserted you ? '* 

“ About three years ago,” she said. 

“ Where were you married ? ’* 

“ In Sydney. I met him in Hobart. He stayed 
at our place. He was a fine-looking man, and said 
he was a horse-dealer, and had a good position in 
Sydney. He persuaded me to go back with him.” 

“ He married you ? ” said Shanklin. 

“Yes, he married me right enough, worse luck. 
He turned out a perfect fraud. If he was a horse- 
dealer, I never saw any of his horses. He was flush 
of cash when he was here, and I knew he had horses 
then.” 

“ How do you know?” asked Shanklin, becoming 
interested, as he invariably did when his favorite 
horse subject cropped up. 

“ Because I saw one he had. I'll never forget hen 


PEDIGREE UNKNOWN, 


133 


She was a beauty. Must have been a thoroughbred, 
I should think,” said Polly. 

Where did you see her ? ” asked Shanklin. 

At Levey’s stables. He took me there to show 
her to me. The brute. He merely did it to deceive 
me.” 

Can you remember what the mare was like?” 
said Shanklin. 

Yes, that I can. I’ll never forget her. I’d know 
her this minute if I saw her. She was black, as 
black as his heart, the beast.” 

Polly evidently had a grievance against her better 
or worse half. 

Shanklin thought for a few moments. Then he 
said : 

What’s your husband’s name ? ” 

Richard Murton,” said Polly. 

“ How long is it since you have seen him ? ” 

‘‘Must be about two years. He left me a year 
after we were married. Sydney got too hot for him. 
Oh, he was a real beauty, I can assure you,” she 
said, venomously. 

“ Should you like to find him again ? ” said 
Shanklin. 

She started to her feet. 

“Find him. Yes, I should like to find him, and 
have my revenge on him.” 

“Then you shall find him, Polly,” said Shanklin; 
“ that is, if he is alive, and still in the colonies.” 

“ Can you find him ? ” said Polly, incredulously. 

“ I can do most things when I set my mind to 
them,” said Shanklin. “ Tell me more about him.” 


134 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


When he had me safely married to him/’ said 
Polly, he soon changed his tone. In a few weeks 
he commenced to drink. Then he commenced to 
use hard words, and then he tried blows, but he 
soon stopped that game, for I was as strong as he. 
In his drunken fits he used to tell me how he had got 
possession of valuable horses at various towns. He 
used to engage himself on a stud farm where strict 
supervision over the horses was a thing almost un- 
known, and where affairs were managed in a hap- 
hazard sort of way. Then he would worm himself 
into the confidence of the boss, and when he saw his 
opportunity would send one or two horses away on 
the quiet. When they were missed there was always 
some excuse about them being lost or stolen. So 
they were, and generally by him.” 

‘‘What about the mare he brought here?” said 
Shanklin. 

“ Stolen like the rest, I suppose. He never said 
much about her. One night he said he was a fool 
to sell her for what he did, as she was the best mare 
he had ever handled.” 

“ And you would know that mare after three or 
four years ? ” said Shanklin, admiringly. 

“ I’d know her anywhere. Don’t you think I 
have good cause to remember her ? She lured me 
on to marry Dick Murton. I thought if he owned 
horses like that he must be worth a power of 
money.” 

“ Look at this paper while I go and see the chief,” 
said Shanklin. 

“ What do you want to see him for ? ” asked Polly. 


PEDIGREE UNKNOWN, 


135 

get you off. I don’t think you will do it 
again. I’ll try and hush the matter up.” 

'' Heaven bless you,” she said. ‘‘ I promise you 
I will never do it again. I came back to Hobart 
thinking I should find some of my old friends who 
would help me, but most of them are gone, and the 
others will not notice me as I am. It was the way 
they looked down on me drove me to it.” 

The vixens ! ” muttered Shanklin, as he strode 
away to. see the chief, leaving the two constables 
outside the office. 

His mission was satisfactory, and he came back to 
the police-office. 

Polly was reading the paper, and as he came in 
she gave an exclamation of surprise. 

‘‘ What’s the matter? ” said Shanklin. 

Look,” she said, excitedly, read that.” 

Shanklin took up the paper and read : 

Murton, Richard. — If Richard Murton, sup- 
posed to have gone to Hobart about four years ago, 
will write to the undersigned, he will hear of some- 
thing to his advantage. — Romer and Wales, solicit- 
ors, Sydney.” 

‘‘ By Jove, that’s a strange coincidence,” he said. 

If he’s the man you say he is, Polly, he’s too old 
a bird to be caught with that. He might get a pal to 
make inquiries. At any rate, I will find out who 
has caused that notice to be inserted. When I have 
done that I can get on to the track of Richard Mur- 
ton.” 

Why are you doing all this ? ” she asked. 


136 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


‘‘You will get no reward. It is nothing to you 
where he is.'* 

“ It is something to me/’ said Shanklin. “ For 
the sake of old times, Polly, I want to get even with 
the man who ill-treated you. I have seen the chief, 
and you can go. Take this card and go to that 
address. You will be well looked after there, and I 
will see you do not come to grief again. Leave it 
all to me, Polly. I only want you to promise me 
one thing in return.” 

“ And that is ? ” she said. 

“ That you will try and be the same woman you 
were when I first knew you,” he said. 

“ I will, John,” she said, earnestly. “ God helping 
me, I will, and He will reward you for your kind- 
ness.” 

“ Now you had better go,” he said. “ I will call 
and see you in the course of the week.” 

“ It’s all right,” he called to the officers as Polly 
left the room ; “ you can let her go.” 

“Well, I’m blessed,” said one of the constables. 

“ Looks quite another woman,” said the other 
man as she passed through the doorway into the 
street. 

Detective Shanklin sat in his office for a good 
hour after Polly Murton had left. He was evidently 
engaged in working out some problem which per- 
plexed him. The sudden arrival of Polly Fenton, 
as he had'known her, on the scene, he regarded as a 
strange working of fate. He was a great believer 
in coincidences, and he felt certain this incident had 
some bearing upon the subject he was thinking 


PEDIGREE UNKNOWN. 


137 


about when she was brought to the station, namely 
the colt Mystery entered for the Hobart Cup. 
Hearing the clock strike six, he rose from his chair, 
put on his hat, and went out. As he walked down 
the street in the direction of his home he muttered : 

‘‘ It’s curious, very curious. His dam’s as black as 
ink. He’s a three-year-old. That would tally with 
the date Polly mentioned. He’s a brown colt, too. 
This is becoming interesting. I must find out more 
about you, Mystery, entered for the Hobart Cup, 
with your ‘ pedigree unknown.’ ” 


138 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


• CHAPTER XIV. 

RALTON AT WORK. 

The strange and ill-assorted marriage of Hugh 
Ralton and Ada Lawton had been celebrated, and 
already the bride began to repent of the step she 
had taken. In honor bound she had felt it to be 
her duty to marry Ralton, and now she had accom- 
plished her desire she would not have been sorry to 
cut the knot that bound them so tightly together 
for life. 

They resided at Bullerana in a commodious house 
on the estate, but the greater part of her time 
Ada Ralton spent at the homestead with George 
Andrews, whose daughter she almost regarded as 
her own child. 

George Andrews was remarkably partial to the 
society of Ada Ralton, and Hugh Ralton liked his 
employer none the better for it. Ada was now his 
property, and although at times he almost hated her, 
he was jealous of her beauty and personal attrac- 
tions. 

As the weeks wore on Ada b }gan to regard Hugh 
Ralton with contempt. No ' tb-'y were man and 
wife she saw through the of his nature. 


RAL TON A T WORK. 


*39 

She knew he was at heart a coward, and capable of 
any meanness to serve his own ends. 

As for Ralton, he became somewhat afraid of Ada. 
He could not but admire her courage in marrying 
him to redeem her honor. Even he had to acknowl- 
edge there was something noble in Ada’s attempt 
to blot out the sin of the past by expiation in the 
present, in the hope of forgiveness in the future. 

Ada let her husband see that she regarded herself 
as his wife merely in name. They might just as 
well have been living apart for all the companionship 
they afforded each other. 

One serious quarrel they had over Susan Holmes, 
Ada’s maid. Ralton took a violent dislike to her, 
for he felt she understood him quite as well as her 
mistress. He desired his wife in peremptory terms 
to dismiss her maid. This Ada flatly refused to do. 
The battle was long and fierce, but in the end Hugh 
Ralton had to give way. 

George Andrews was not long in seeing how 
matters stood between them. Why such a woman 
as Ada, with all her attractions, should have married 
Hugh Ralton, was one of those things he could not 
understand. 

It was not long before George Andrews began to 
forget the commandments of his youth, and to 
“ covet his neighbor’s wife.” He became much 
attached to Ada, and he always treated her with 
deference and respect. He succeeded in hiding the 
real state of his feelings from her, because he did not 
wish to lose either her society or her regard. Some 
day George Andrews meant to ask Ada Ralton why 


140 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


she had married Hugh Ralton, but the time for 
putting the question had not yet arrived. 

Meanwhile Hugh Ralton had been at work on the 
tracks he had obtained through Tom W ilde’s letter to 
Arthur Newman. He questioned Newman in such 
a manner that the latter felt Ralton must have found 
the missing letter. Newman thought it better to 
profess complete ignorance of everything, at all 
events for the present. He knew Ralton meant 
mischief to the Wildes, and he thought his best plan 
would be to watch over their interests, and over the 
movements of Ralton. 

George Andrews showed apathy in the matter, 
which irritated Ralton. He wish to work up 
Andrews against the Wildes, and he could not even 
get him to take an interest in the recovery of the 
mare stolen some three or four years back. 

“ Do as you like, Ralton,’' he had said. If you 
recover that mare you will be qualified to enter the 
detective force. If you take my advice you will not 
bother your head about her. She’s gone, and there’s 
an end of the matter.” 

“ I’m convinced that the man you had here at the 
time the mare was stolen, Dick Murton, as you call 
him, is the culprit,” said Ralton. 

Shouldn’t wonder if he is,” said Andrews ; he’s 
just the sort of fellow to do the trick. I guess you 
will have some difficulty in laying your hands on 
him, Ralton.” 

I’ll find him if you will give me the means to do 
so,” said Ralton. 

I do not like to find you money to hunt any 


TON A T WORK. 


141 

man down,’' said George Andrews. This affair 
happened some years ago. The man may have re- 
pented since then ; he may be trying to lead a bet- 
ter life. What is the use of ruining him if he is try- 
ing to become a respectable member of society. I 
cannot think why you are so desperately in earnest 
over this affair ; have you any motive in it ? ” asked 
Andrews, sharply, looking Ralton in the face. 

The question was unexpected, and for a moment 
Ralton did not answer. When he answered he in- 
dignantly denied that he had any motive other than 
to recover a mare so valuable. 

For the sake of letting the subject drop, George 
Andrews gave Hugh Ralton permission to do what 
he thought necessary in the affair. For his own 
part, he heartily wished that nothing would come 
of Ralton’s inquiries. 

Hugh Ralton’s first step was to consult Messrs. 
Romer and Wales, Solicitors, Sydney, and this ac- 
counted for the advertisement Detective Shanklin 
and Polly Murton had read in the Hobart Mercury. 

Hugh Ralton suggested the advertisement being 
inserted in the paper, because he felt sure the mare 
Tom Wilde had in his possession had been taken to 
Hobart. 

He showed the list of entries for the Hobart Cup 
to George Andrews, and triumphantly pointed to 
“ Messrs. Kelly and Wilde’s br. c. Mystery, 3 yrs., 
pedigree unknown.” 

George Andrews acknowledged it was a strange 
entry, and also a strange coincidence that the colt 
should be three years old and his pedigree unknown. 


142 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


^^You seldom see such an entry/’ said Ralton, 

On the face of it, this entry is worth following up. 
I shall endeavor to obtain some information about 
Mystery.” 

George Andrews had never seen Ralton so ener- 
getic before, and he wondered what the motive was 
that urged him on. 

“Wonder if he has a personal grudge against the 
owner or owners of the colt. If he has, that will ac- 
count for it, because he could make it very unpleas- 
ant for them if there happened to be anything in 
Ralton’s theory that the dam of Mystery is the mare 
I lost. Confound it, why cannot he let the matter 
drop.” 

Arthur Newman casually mentioned one night to 
George Andrews, when they were talking over old- 
world affairs, that he knew the Wildes who had come 
out to Tasmania. 

“ Wilde,” said Andrews ; “ the name seems famil- 
iar tome. Oh, yes, I know ; that’s the name of one 
of the owners of Mystery entered for the Hobart 
Cup with an unknown pedigree. I wonder if it is 
your friend, Newman?” 

“It is,” replied Newman, “and a jolly good 
fellow he is, too. You would like Tom Wilde, Mr. 

Andrews, he’s a different stamp of a man to ,” he 

hesitated. 

“ Go on,” said Andrews. “ I know to whom you 
allude — Hugh Ralton.” 

“ Yes,” said Newman. 

“ Does Ralton know this Tom Wilde? ” said An- 
drews. 


RALTON AT WORK 


143 

‘‘Yes/’ said Newman, “he does. He was the 
cause of their leaving the old country.” 

“ How ? ” asked Andrews. 

Then Arthur Newman related how it came about 
that the Wildes left Hawthorn Farm, and what part 
Hugh Ralton played in the proceedings. 

“ Then he has a motive for searching out all the 
information he can about this horse,” said Andrews ; 
“ I thought as much. I must put a stop to it at 
once.” 

Arthur Newman was delighted to think he had 
luckily been able to put a spoke in Ralton’s schem- 
ing wheel. 

He was, however, counting his chickens before 
they were hatched. 

George Andrews was desirous of preventing Ral- 
ton probing this matter to the bottom, but he knew 
the man, and felt if he thwarted him in any way he 
might leave Bullerana. 

He would not have been sorry had Hugh Ralton 
left on his account, because he had seen into his 
hidden nature a good deal of late. 

If Ralton went then Ada would go with him, and 
he could not bear to think of that. 

George Andrews’ hopeless passion for Ada Ralton 
was the stumbling-block in the way of Arthur New- 
man’s attempt to defend Tom Wilde from Ralton’s 
machinations. 

Hugh Ralton quickly discovered George Andrews 
had learned something about the Wildes, and he 
could have learned nothing except through Arthur 
Newman. 


144 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


George Andrews was an honest, outspoken man, 
and he could not rest until he had told Ralton what 
he had heard. 

Hugh Ralton gave his version of the affair at 
Hawthorn Farm, and he also detailed how Tom 
Wilde had behaved when he met him at William 
Rath’s at The Mount in Hobart. 

Mr. Rath had not mentioned anything about the 
encounter between Tom Wilde and Hugh Ralton 
in his communications to George Andrews. 

Ralton knew he had lost ground with George 
Andrews, but he determined to remain where he was 
at all cost in order to be revenged on Tom Wilde. 

He now made no objections to Ada’s frequent 
visits to the homestead, for he knew that through 
her he had a great hold over George Andrews, 
although Ada herself was unconscious of the fact. 

‘‘You will be some use to me after all, Ada,” 
thought Hugh Ralton. “ I can use you as a bait to 
draw George Andrews into my net. If I could only 
compromise you with him it would be grand. 
Andrews is rich. He would come down heavily to 
shield you from disgrace. More fool he. The time 
may come when such a course of action will be use- 
ful. At present, my dear Ada, your attractions are 

only required to assist me to ruin those. Wildes. 

How I do hate the whole tribe ! I must settle with 
Newman, too. It will not do to have him prying 
about here. I’ll clear him out at the first opportu- 
nity. On second thoughts, it might be as well to keep 
him here. If he leaves he will go to Hobart and put 
Tom Wilde on his guard.” 


JR ALTON AT WORN. 


145 


If I can only find this Dick Murton it means 
certain ruin to Wilde. I can easily protect Murton 
from harm, and if not, what do I care, provided he 
has done all I require ? ” 

Hugh Ralton went about his business as usual at 
Bullerana, and George Andrews commenced to think 
he had given up the Mystery case as hopeless. 

This was not so, and the owner of Bullerana would 
have been undeceived had he seen Hugh Ralton 
tear open a telegram that was delivered at his house, 
and read it eagerly, and then give an exclamation of 
savage joy. 

The telegram was from Messrs. Romer and Wales 
Sydney, and read as follows : 

Have found Murton. Come to town at your 
earliest convenience.'’ 

You bet I will,” said Ralton. “ Found, are you, 
Murton ? We shall soon hear what you know and 
what you don’t know. You must be kept out of the 
way until the critical moment, and then we can 
spring a mine upon Mr. Tom Wilde that will rather 
surprise him.” 

lO 


146 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


CHAPTER XV. 

IS THAT THE MARE ? 

Detective Shanklin was determined Polly 
Murton should see the dam of Mystery, and then if 
she recognized her as the animal her husband had in 
Hobart, he would know how to act. 

It was, however, a difficult matter to get a sight 
of the mare at Rydal Farm, and he did not wish 
either Tom Wilde or his father to have any idea of 
his business. 

It would be better if Polly Murton could see the 
mare without the knowledge of the Wildes. 

Shanklin being a man of resource, and accustomed 
to working up cases of all kinds, soon hit upon a 
plan which he thought would succeed. He sent 
Polly Murton up to New Norfolk by the steamer, 
with instructions to go to the Bush Inn and remain 
until he came. 

Polly had considerably improved since the scene 
at the police office, and she looked a quiet, respect- 
able woman, which, indeed, she was, only the mis- 
fortune of having such a scoundrel for a husband 
had not been beneficial. 

Polly Murton remained at the Bush Inn a couple 
of days, and on the third day a quiet-looking man 


IS THAT THE MARE? 


147 

drove up in a serviceable trap with a good-looking 
horse in, and inquired for her. 

Polly wondered who the man could be. It must 
be a messenger from Shanklin. 

When the new arrival spoke to her she started. 
She had not recognized Shanklin in his disguise, but 
she easily recognized his voice. 

It’s all right, Polly,” he said when they were 
alone ; I don’t fancy any one will recognize me in 
this get-up.” 

No,” said Polly; ''I am sure they will not. I 
never saw a better disguise, although Dick is a pretty 
good hand at them.” 

“ Oh, he is,’’ said Shanklin ; that’s bad. It 
makes it more difficult to find him.” 

Why are you so anxious to find him,” asked 
Polly. 

‘‘ To pay him out for all the trouble he has 
brought upon you,” said Shanklin. That will be 
reward enough for me.” 

How are we going to get a look at the mare?” 
said Polly. 

That’s my plan,” he said; ‘‘you have only to do 
what I tell you and keep quiet. Are you quite 
sure you could recognize the mare again if you saw 
her?” 

“ Certain,” said Polly ; “ shall I ever forget her ? ” 

“ It’s a bit risky, but we must take our chance,” 
said Shanklin. 

“ What do you mean to do ? ” asked Polly. 

“ Go boldly up to the house,” said Shanklin with 
a smile. 


148 ONLY A COMMONER. 

Nonsense,” said Polly ; you'll never do that.” 

Not quite,” said Shanklin ; ‘‘you see Tom 
Wilde knows me, and I reckon he would penetrate 
through my disguise as soon as I opened my 
mouth.” 

“ If you could disguise your speech as well as you 
can your person, it would be perfect,” said Polly. 

“ Listen to me, Polly,” said Shanklin : “ I have 
planned the whole affair out well, and I do not 
think we shall fail. It will be a clear moonlight 
night, and I have found out where the mare is kept. 
We will drive over to the farm, have the horse and 
trap near, and then make straight for the mare's box. 
It stands a good way from the house, and I do not 
think we shall be seen. It won't take you long to 
see whether it is the mare or not. We must be as 
quiet as possible over the job. It seems strange to 
me to be up to this game, but it will give me some 
idea how a horse-thief feels when bent on plunder.” 

Tom Wilde and his father were chatting over old 
times at the Farm, and everything was prepared for 
the night. 

Tom had that morning received a letter from 
Arthur Newman, which had made him feel anxious. 
It referred to the mare and Mystery, and hinted 
that Hugh Ralton had some scheme of roguery on 
foot to thwart Tom's plans and get him into trouble, 
if possible. 

Tom wished with all his heart he had not listened 
to Kelly's advice, but had at once made inquiries 
about the mare, and given George Andrews an 
opportunity of claiming her or not. 


IS THA T THE MARE ? 


149 


‘‘ ril go and have a look round, father, before I go 
to bed,'* said Tom. It's a beautiful night. It 
seems a pity to waste it in bed.** 

As you please, Tom,** said his father, but I 
would not stay out long. It comes on damp so 
quickly, and you are apt to catch a chill.** 

Shanklin and Polly Murton had driven up to the 
farm, and had left the horse and trap concealed from 
view behind a tall hedge. 

Abduction*s box stood in a quiet nook at the top 
of one of the paddocks, and Shanklin had no difficulty 
in recognizing it. He had obtained the required in- 
formation from one of the hands at the farm, whom 
he had met in Hobart and primed with liquor. 

They went round the paddock under cover of the 
hedge, and as they neared the box Shanklin took a 
look round. He could see nothing, nor could he 
hear any one stirring. 

All’s safe,** he whispered to Polly. Slip through 
here and follow me quick.** 

He pushed his way through a gap in the hedge, 
and his companion followed him. 

‘‘ I’ll let her out,” said Shanklin. ^‘You will see 
her better in the paddock. It*s almost as light as 
day. We’ll have a poor chance of getting away if 
any one sees us.” 

We must risk that,” said Polly. “At all events 
it will enable me to see the mare better.” 

“ Sit down here,” said Shanklin, “and I’ll go round 
this way and gradually get up to the box. If there 
is any one about at the farm they will not have much 
chance of seeing me if I keep on this side.” 


ONLY A COMMOxVER. 


150 

Polly sat down under the shade of the hedge, and 
Shanklin moved away cautiously in the direction of 
the box. 

He reached it all right, and opened the door, which 
was unlocked. 

Abduction was inside right enough, and he could 
see her turn round and sniff the air, recognizing 
there was a stranger present. 

The mare had no halter on, and Shanklin seeing 
this, threw the door wide open. 

Abduction, however, declined to move out of her 
box. 

She evidently did not understand these nocturnal 
proceedings. 

Shanklin got in front of her, and with a consider- 
able amount of trouble made her turn round. When 
the mare stood facing the door, he hit her with his 
hat, and with abound she shot out into the paddock, 
and as luck would have it, cantered nearly up to the 
spot where Polly Murton sat in the shadow of the 
hedgerow. 

Shanklin hurried back as quickly as possible, for 
he was anxious to hear if Polly had been able to 
recognize the mare. 

When Polly Murton saw the mare standing in 
front of her, with the moonlight shining full on her 
black coat, she was startled. 

It seemed only like yesterday that she had seen 
this coal-black mare in Levey's stables in Hobart, 
and listened to the eulogiums Dick Murton had 
passed upon her. 

Her husband, lover then, had pointed out every 


/S THA T THE MARE ? 


point of the mare to her with pride, and had drawn 
Polly’s special attention to her beautiful head. 

He had passed some flattering compliment on 
Polly’s looks at the same time, and compared her 
with a thoroughbred of the highest class. 

Polly had listened to his blandishments. She had 
admired, petted, and stroked the mare, and had 
noted with an air of proprietorship every point about 
her. And now the same mare stood before her, the 
moonlight outlining her blood-like form, and show- 
ing her ofT to perfection. 

Abduction certainly looked splendid, and so 
thought Polly Murton as her memory flashed back 
to the time when she had seen her standing in the 
livery stables at Hobart. 

She recognized the mare at once. She had told 
Shanklin she was certain she could do so, but even 
Polly Murton had no idea how truthful the likeness 
would be. 

There was no mistake about it, the mare Dick 
Murton had shown her stood before her. 

Shanklin came up hurriedly and asked in an 
anxious tone of voice : 

Is that the mare ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Polly, still looking at Abduction with 
a dreamy gaze in her eyes. 

Quite certain ? ” asked Shanklin. 

“ I am positive. I could swear to her anywhere. 
That’s the mare Dick Murton showed me in the 
livery stables at Hobart.” 

At this moment Tom Wilde looked over the gate 
at the far side of the paddock and saw Abduction, 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


^52 

“ Must have pushed open the door/’ thought 
Tom. ril go and put her in again. She’s better 
in at night this changeable weather.” 

Shanklin saw him, and told Polly to creep through 
the gap in the hedge, and he followed her. 

‘‘We must make for the trap as quickly as pos- 
sible,” he said. “ I hope he won’t see us.” 

Tom Wilde walked across to the mare, who was 
cropping the grass close to where Polly Murton had 
seen her. 

“ So you’ve got out, have you ? ” said Tom. 
“Well, you’ve just got to go in again,” and he 
attempted to guide the mare to her box. 

Abduction, however, did not seem inclined to go 
in, and trotted down the paddock in the direction 
Shanklin and Polly Murton were hurrying along on 
the opposite side of the hedge. 

Tom Wilde ran after the mare to drive her back, 
and as he did so he caught sight of Polly’s light dress 
fluttering on the other side. 

“ Who’s that, I wonder,” he thought, as he 
stopped. 

Then he saw a man hurrying along as fast as he 
could, and making for the gate. 

He looked in that direction and could just discern 
a horse and a trap standing in the road close under 
the hedge. 

“ Here’s a rum go,” said Tom to himself. “ What 
the deuce can they have been doing here ? ” 

Then he thought whether these nocturnal visitors 
had anything to do with the mare being out in the 
paddock. 


IS THAT THE MATE 


153 

He shouted out to the retreating figures but all to 
no purpose. 

They ran as fast as they could to the gate, got 
quickly into the trap, and drove rapidly along the 
road. 

Tom Wilde could not make it out at all. 

He went to Abduction’s box, looked about care- 
fully, and saw footprints on the mould on the 
flooring. 

So some one had been in the box and turned the 
mare out. 

For what purpose ? That was a mystery he could 
not solve, for it was evident Abduction had taken 
no harm. 

He ran back to the house and told his father what 
he had seen. 

‘‘ ril saddle Raven and ride after them,” said 
Tom. “ Td like to get at the bottom of this. A 
woman in it, too. What on earth can it mean?” 

“ You’ll never catch them now,” said his father. 

Yes, I shall,” said Tom. ‘‘They have not got 
much of a start, and Raven can gallop. I’ll make a 
race of it, anyhow. Put Abduction in her box. I’ll 
be back as soon as possible if I cannot overtake them.” 

“ It’s a wild-goose chase, Tom,” said his father. 
“ What does it matter, if the mare’s all right ? ” 

Tom made no reply, but hurried to the stable, 
quickly saddled up Raven, and in a few minutes 
was ready to go in pursuit of the trap. He was 
soon on the main road, and put Raven into a 
gallop. 

Meanwhile Detective Shanklin and Polly Murton 


154 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


were driving along the road towards Hobart as 
rapidly as possible. They had a good four-and- 
twenty-miles drive before them, but they did not 
mind this so long as no one came in pursuit. 

Shanklin felt almost certain Tom Wilde would 
come after them. He knew Tom liked an adventure, 
and a gallop in the moonlight after them would be 
sport to him. He urged the horse on as fast as he 
dared, and had gained a couple of miles start before 
Tom Wilde was in pursuit. 

It was a splendid level road and the trap bowled 
along in great style. When they had gone about a 
dozen miles, Shanklin pulled up the horse to listen 
if he could hear any one following them. A faint 
sound could be heard like the galloping of a horse a 
long distance off, and Shanklin knew Tom Wilde 
was on their track. 

It was very little use trying to out-distance a man 
on a fast horse, and he knew he must resort to 
stratagem in order not to be discovered. 

Polly,” he said, ‘‘ dare you get out here and re- 
main alone for a time. It’s our only chance. There’s 
nothing to be afraid of. I shall have to drive back 
and meet Tom Wilde.” 

‘‘I’m not afraid,” said Polly; “but he will rec- 
ognize your voice to a certainty.” 

“ I shall take off this disguise, and let him see 
who I am. I can easily explain that I am after a 
man who has escaped from the lock-up, or something 
of that kind. I’ll ask him if he has met any one on 
the road, and if he says not I’ll put him off the scent 
and come back to you/’ 


IS THA T THE MARE ? 


155 


You're a clever one, John," said Polly, as she 
got quickly out of the trap. I’ll wait here until 
you come back." 

Shanklin turned his horse round and started off 
in the direction of New Norfolk as quickly as the 
animal could go. He had not gone more than half 
a mile when he saw a horseman coming along at 
full gallop. He recognized Tom Wilde at once. 

When Tom saw the trap he pulled up, and Shanklin 
did the same. 

“ Where the devil are you going at this time of 
the night, Mr. Wilde? " said Shanklin. 

Tom started. The voice was familiar, but he did 
not recognize the man. 

“ Who are you ? " asked Tom. 

Detective Shanklin, at your service." 

“ So it is," said Tom. What are you after ? " 

A man," said Shanklin. A chap escaped from 
the lock-up, and I’m on the lookout for him. I 
heard he had gone this way. Have you seen any- 
one ? ’’ 

“ Yes. There’s been a man and a woman prowl- 
ing about our place. The man let Abduction out of 
her box,’’ said Tom. 

‘‘ What the deuce could a man and a woman want 
with Abduction ? ’’ said Shanklin. 

Tom explained what he had seen, and how he had 
ridden in pursuit. 

It is no use your going any further," said Shank- 
lin. If there had been a trap on the road I should 
have met it. They must have doubled and gone 
some other way. You go back home, Mr. Wilde. 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


156 

ril fix the matter up for you if you will come into 
Hobart and give me all the particulars. It’s no use 
my going on in your direction, because if you have 
seen no one the search will be useless. I’ll try 
another way.’' 

I could have sworn that trap went this way,” 
said Tom. 

Impossible. I must have met it if it had been 
driven in this direction.” 

That’s true,” said Tom. I’ll call in and have 
a chat with you over the matter. I should very 
much like to get at the bottom of the affair. For 
the life of me I cannot think what the woman was 
doing there.” 

Bidding Shanklin good-night, Tom turned his 
horse’s head and leisurely cantered homewards. 

Detective Shanklin was mightily pleased at the 
success of his ruse, and drove back to the spot where 
he had left Polly Murton. 

He found her waiting for him, and she laughed 
heartily when he related how he had put Tom Wilde 
off the scent. 

They drove on quietly towards Hobart, where 
they arrived in the morning. 

You’re quite sure that’s the mare Murton showed 
you,” said Shanklin, as he drove her up to her 
lodgings. 

Certain of it,” said Polly. I knew the mare 
directly I saw her.” 

‘‘ This is becoming interesting,” thought Shanklin. 
“ I wonder if Jos Kelly knows anything about this 
mare.” 


DICK MUR TON. 


157 


CHAPTER XVI. 

DICK MURTON. 

Messrs. Romer and Wales occupied offices in 
Phillip Street, within a few minutes' walk of the 
Supreme Court, and thither Hugh Ralton wended 
his way about a week after the events narrated in 
the preceding chapter. 

Ralton was pleased with himself and the world in 
general on this particular day. 

As a rule he found fault with everything and 
everybody, including himself, but On this particular 
occasion he felt he could be magnanim.ous. 

Men of Ralton's stamp feel elated when bent on 
mischief, just as men of a thoroughly different stamp 
are happy and contented when on an errand of 
mercy or charity. 

As he walked through Hyde Park he passed the 
spot where he had met his wife, and when he remem- 
bered what she had said on that occasion, it cast a 
gloom over him for the moment. This was, however, 
quickly dispelled as he walked rapidly across Oxford 
Square, and into Phillip Street. 

He entered Messrs Romer and Wales’ office, and 
was ushered into the senior partner’s sanctum. 

Good-morning, Mr. Ralton,” said Mr. Romer, a» 
he motioned him to take a seat. 


158 ONLY A COMMONER, 

Mr. Romer was a small, dapper little man. He 
wore an eyeglass, had his hair cut short, and looked 
a curious mixture of lawyer and money-lender, 
which, as a matter of fact, he was. 

Have you seen this man Murton?’’ asked 
Ralton, coming at once to the business he had in 
hand. 

Yes,’' said Mr. Romer, he called here yester- 
day, and said he would be here at eleven this morn- 
ing. It now wants a quarter to the hour,” said 
Romer, pulling a heavy gold watch out of his 
pocket, and handling it as though it was too pre- 
cious to be hidden from sight without due exami- 
nation. 

What sort of a man is he ? ” asked Ralton. 

Mr. Romer described him. 

He is not quite the sort of man I expected to 
see,” said Mr. Romer. I can hardly believe he is 
guilty of such a thing as horse-stealing. He is any- 
thing but a horsey-looking man. He speaks well, 
and has evidently had a fair education.” 

From what Andrews tells me I should fancy he 
had a pretty good schooling,” replied Ralton. Did 
you mention what I wanted to see him about ? ” 

Mr. Romer smiled as he said : 

Hardly that, Mr. Ralton. I do not fancy he 
would have made an appointment for this morning 
had I done so.” 

Footsteps were heard on the stairs, and in another 
moment the man who had paid Messrs. Romer and 
Wales a visit entered the room. 

When Ralton saw him he was surprised. He had 


DICK MUR TON. 


^59 

expected to see a man down on his luck, and here 
was a stalwart fellow, evidently well fed and well 
cared for. He felt it would be no easy matter to 
obtain the information he wanted from Richard 
Murton — the man standing before him. 

Hugh Ralton was a man of resource, and quick of 
action, and he decided to treat this man as an equal. 
He had intended to carry the matter with a high 
hand, and to get all he wanted from Murton by 
threats and a gift of a few notes. 

The man he had to tackle was, however, a cool 
and evidently calculating individual. 

‘‘You are Richard Murton?’' said Ralton, in a 
tone of interrogation. 

“Yes,” was the brief reply. 

“You called to see Messrs. Romer and Wales in 
answer to an advertisement in the papers,” said 
Ralton. 

“ I did. I saw Mr. Romer yesterday, and he ex- 
plained you were the gentleman desirous of seeing 
me on important business. What it can be I do not 
know. I have no friends who would be anxious to 
find me out,” said Murton. 

Ralton whispered to Mr. Romer, who said : 

“ Certainly, my dear sir, if you desire it.” 

He ushered them into a private room leading out 
of his office, and left the two men alone. 

“ Now, Richard Murton,” said Ralton, “ we can 
talk freely. I may as well say at once you are a 
totally different man to what I expected to find you. 
To come to business at once. You were engaged at 
Mr. Andrews’ station, Bullerana?” 


i6o 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


I was/’ said Murton, who was not very free of 
speech. 

And when there had charge of the blood horses.” 

'' Some of them.” 

‘'Now, Mr. Murton, without beating about the 
bush, I may as well say that a most valuable mare 
by Splendor out of Remorse, named Royal Pardon, 
was missed from Bullerana during the time you were 
there, or shortly after you left. That mare has 
never been found from that day to this.” 

Ralton saw a look of surprise pass over Murton’s 
face as he mentioned the name of the mare. 

“ He stole her sure enough,” thought Ralton. 

“ Mr. Andrews has a shrewd suspicion who stole 
the mare, and where she is at the present time,” went 
on Ralton. “ He is determined to find out the man 
who stole the mare, and once he gets hold of the 
mare, and traces her history since she was missed 
from the station, it will not be a difficult matter 
to find out the name of the thief. Do you follow 
me?” 

“Yes, I see what you’re driving at,” said Murton, 
“ go on.” 

“ I am glad you understand me,” said Ralton. 
“ Horse-stealing is a serious offence, and Mr. 
Andrews is a determined man. He will spare no 
expense to find the man who stole Royal Pardon. 
I know where that mare is, and I could lay my 
hands on her in less than a week.” 

“ Could you, now ? ” said Murton, in surprise. 
“Well, I just call that cute. Where is she?” 

“ Not far from where she was taken to after she 


DICK MURTON. 


i6i 


was stolen,” said Ralton. Royal Pardon is at pres- 
ent at Rydal Farm, a place owned by John Wilde 
and his son Tom at New Norfolk, not many miles 
from Hobart. You know Hobart, I believe, Mur- 
ton.” 

“Yes, I reckon I know a good deal about Hobart. 
But what has all this got to do with me ? ” 

“ He’s a cool hand,” thought Ralton. “ I must 
take him off his guard.” 

“ It has got a good deal to do with you, if you 
will only listen to me,” said Ralton. “ From inform- 
ation we have received it seems not at all unlikely 
that you will be charged with stealing the mare.” 

Richard Murton flinched, but quickly recovering 
his equanimity he said : 

“ Nonsense. There is no proof against me.” 

“ Listen to me, Murton,” went on Ralton. “ There 
is ample proof against you. You have been tracked 
to Hobart with that mare, and you sold her there to 
a man named Arthur Newman. He in turn, when 
he got into difficulties, sold her to Jos Kelly, the 
trainer, and he has given Tom Wilde a half share in 
the mare and her progeny. You see I am well 
posted in the facts of this interesting case.” 

“You are indeed,” said Murton. “Supposing I 
did steal the mare as you say ; what then ? Are you 
going to prosecute me? Mind you, I don’t say 
what you have told me is correct. I want to know 
what your game is. I don’t fancy, Mr. Ralton, you 
are making all this fuss about the loss of Royal Par- 
don. Come, out with it. Let us understand each 
other.” 


i 62 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


It was now Hugh Ralton’s turn to look surprised. 
Murton had turned the tables on him, and seen 
through him and his little game. He laughed un- 
easily as he said : 

You have a clear head for business, I see. To 
be frank with you, I have a game of my own to play 
in this matter, and you can assist me.” 

That's better,” said Murton. ‘‘Now I can talk 
to you with pleasure. Confidence for confidence. 
You tell me you have a game to play. In return, I 
tell you I sold Royal Pardon in Hobart. Now, what 
do you want me to do ? ” 

“That's business,” said Ralton. “ If you do as I 
ask you, I will give you two hundred pounds, and 
promise to get you out of all trouble in connection 
with the matter.” 

“ Agreed,” said Murton. “ But mind you, I don't 
want to put my head into a noose.” 

“ No fear of that,” said Ralton. “ These Wildes 
who have the mare in their possession are enemies 
of mine, and I hate the very name of them. They 
did me a great injury in the old country which I 
have neither forgotten nor forgiven. I want to get 
the better of them, if possible, and pay them out. 
Young Wilde, in conjunction with Jos Kelly, the 
trainer, has entered a colt out of this mare Royal 
Pardon in the Hobart Cup. He is entered in the 
name of Mystery, pedigree unknown. The colt, I 
hear, has a real good chance of winning, and will be 
backed for a lot of money. Tom Wilde will be sure 
to back him heavily, and I want him not only to lose 
his money but to be disgraced.” 


Dick MtlR TON. 1 63 

And how are you going to manage this amiable 
little scheme ? ” asked Murton. 

That is what I have to rely upon you for. On 
the day the Hobart Cup is run for, you must be on 
the Elwick course in the paddock. Mr. Andrews 
will be there ; I shall take care of that, and he will 
easily recognize the mare. I shall want you to be 
present to identify the mare also, and to state that 
you took her over to Hobart.'' 

If I say that it will be confessing to having 
stolen her. A nice mess I should get into, Mr. Ral- 
ton. That game will not suit me," said Murton. 

There will be no danger," said Ralton. All Mr. 
Andrews desires is to get the mare back; He will 
not prosecute you, I have taken care of that." 

This was stretching a point, but Ralton little 
cared what became of Murton so long as he got 
his revenge. 

That's all very well," said Murton, but how 
am I to know Mr. Andrews will not prosecute 
me? " 

‘'You have my word for it," said Ralton. Dick 
Murton smiled as he replied : 

" I'd sooner have George Andrews' signature on 
paper to that effect." 

Ralton bit his lip, but retained his temper. 

" You shall have that if you desire it," he said : 
" but there is really no necessity for it." 

“ I shall not move a step in this matter until I 
get it," 

“ Very well. I’ll write it out before I leave you, 
and if George Andrews puts his signature to it I 


164 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


presume that will be sufficient. You know his 
signature ? ” 

I know his signature, and that will suit me down 
to the ground,” said Murton. I know George 
Andrews, and he is not the sort of man to go back 
on his word once he has given it.” 

That's settled,” said Ralton. To proceed. I 
shall require you to be on the course, and half an 
hour before the race I shall lodge a complaint with 
the stewards about this horse Mystery. You will 
wait until you are wanted to give evidence. All 
you will have to swear to is that you took Royal 
Pardon when in foal from Bullerana to Hobart, and 
there sold her to Arthur Newman, who in turn sold 
her to Kelly. You can also say the mare was 
in foal to Trenton at the time, and that the colt 
Mystery is the property of Mr. Andrews. All this 
will not be denied by Tom Wilde, for I believe he 
knows now who the mare belongs to. The evidence 
I shall place before the stewards will be written and 
attested by the witnesses whom they can call before 
them. You will see what happens when I have 
stated my case,” went on Ralton. There will be a 
nice scene on the race-course I reckon, and Mr. Tom 
Wilde will stand a good chance of being hooted off 
the course. He will also stand a chance of being 
prosecuted for fraudulent entry of the colt in the 
Cup.” 

‘‘ A very nice scheme, Mr. Ralton,” said Murton, 
“ and it reflects credit upon your ingenuity. I see 
what you are driving at. You want to prevent 
Mystery from running at the last moment, and to 


DICK MUR TON, 


165 

expose Tom Wilde on the public race-course. Don’t 
you think it’s a bit hard on the young fellow ? It 
may not be his fault after all.” 

Not a bit too hard on him,” growled Ralton. 

How I shall relish that scene! I think I have got 
you safe this time, Mr. Tom Wilde.” 

'' Will the stewards prevent the horse from start- 
ing ? ” said Murton. ‘‘They might let him run 
under protest.” 

“ I have thought of that,” said Ralton, “ and I 
shall guard against it. If they decide to let him 
run under protest I shall have him seized on the 
course as stolen property.” 

“ That will be risky,” said Murton. 

“ Not at all,” said Ralton ; “ Mr. Andrews will have 
seen the mare at the Wildes’ farm before the meet- 
ing, and of course he will recognize her. I have 
thought all that out, and can easily get him to go 
there with Mr. Rath, who is a friend of the Wildes 
as well as of George Andrews.” 

“ You have a good idea of working up a 
case,” said Murton ; “ you ought to have been a 
lawyer.” 

Ralton smiled as he said : “ Do you agree to my 
bargain, Murton ? ” 

“ Yes, on condition I have Mr. Andrews’ signa- 
ture. What shall you write for him to sign ? Let 
me see it.” 

Ralton drew his chair to the table and wrote as ' 
follows : 

“ On condition I receive my mare Royal Pardon, 


i66 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


and her colt Mystery, I will take no further proceed- 
ings in the matter.” 

How will that do, Murton?” said Ralton as he 
read it over. 

‘‘ Sounds like compounding a felony, does it not ? ” 
said Murton. 

'' What if it is,” said Ralton ; you would never 
use it ? ” 

Rather not,” said Murton with a laugh. You 
are a clever one, Mr. Ralton.” 

‘‘ Where shall I send this note to you ? ” asked 
Ralton. 

To the post-office, Hobart. You can address it 
to me. No one knows much about me there.” 

Very well,” replied Ralton ; ‘‘ you shall have it 
before the races commence.” 

And about the ;^200. Tm a bit short. Could 
you let me have a score now to clinch the bar- 
gain.” 

Ralton hesitated, but eventually handed Dick 
Murton four five-pound notes. 

‘‘ Let me have ^30 more before the races,” said 
Murton, and the balance after Mystery has been 
handed over to Mr. Andrews.” 

Agreed,” said Ralton. That settles the matter. 
What a surprise will be in store for you on Hobart 
Cup-day, Mr. Tom Wilde. When I play my trump 
card you will look very small.” 

Dick Murton left Messrs. Romer and Wales’ office 
before Hugh Ralton, who remained behind to have 
a chat with Mr. Romer, whose legal advice he had 


DICK MURTON, 167 

taken on the question of obtaining possession of 
Mystery before the Cup was run. 

Dick Murton was evidently much pleased with the 
result of his interview with Ralton. 

He laughed to himself as he walked along, and 
seemed in high spirits. 

A nice beauty Ralton is,'* he mused ; what an 
amiable creature, to be sure. No doubt he’ll meet 
with his match one of these days,” and Murton 
chuckled audibly. 

I’ll meet you on the course, Mr. Ralton. You 
need have no fear of that,” he went on. I’m fond 
of exciting scenes. They brace up my nerves. 
Royal Pardon. Well, Royal Pardon you’re a good 
bred ’un and worth a bit of trouble. What a sensa- 
tion there will be on the course. By Jove, it’s as 
good as a play. So there’s not much chance of 
Mystery running in the Hobart Cup, eh, Mr. Ralton? 
We shall see about that. I always act on the square, 
and I’ll be on the course to see what happens, Mr. 
Ralton, you bet. Wait until I get that signature of 
George Andrews. That’s what I want. It may 
come in useful some day. I’m fond of signatures, I 
make a study of them, They me interesting to look 
at sometimes,” 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


1 68 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A NOTE OF WARNING. 

Tom Wilde had been unable to discover who the 
nocturnal visitors to Rydal Farm were, and he was 
at a loss to understand why Abduction had been let 
out of her box. 

He received a letter from Sydney, however, which 
he fancied threw some light on the question. The 
letter was written in an unfamiliar hand and bore no 
signature, not even the usual and ambiguous sign of 
a friend.” 

The letter read as follows : 

Sydney (no date). 

Sir, — I have something to communicate to you, 
which will, I think, be of importance, and which you 
ought to know. 

“ It is in regard to your colt Mystery and the mare 
Abduction. Hugh Ralton is making strenuous 
efforts to prevent your horse from running in the 
Hobart Cup, and I know for certain he has seen Dick 
Murton, who knows all about the mare, and sold her 
to Arthur Newman. 

The mare is a good bred one, but I am not at 
liberty to tell you her breeding at present. Ralton, 
I believe, knows it, and will make every effort to 


A NOTE OF WARNING. 


169 

have your colt disqualified, if he does not go a 
step further and endeavor to obtain possession of 
him. I should strongly advise you to lay these facts 
before the Committee of the Tasmanian Turf Club 
at your earliest convenience. I wish you luck, and 
trust nothing untoward will prevent Mystery from 
starting in the Cup and winning it.’' 

This was the epistle Tom Wilde received, and 
after reading it to his father, he determined to con- 
sult Detective Shanklin in the matter. 

This he did without delay. 

The detective read the letter carefully, then handed 
it back to Tom, and quietly said : I should follow 

the fellow’s advice, whoever he is, and show it to the 
secretary of the Club, who can place it before the 
committee. It is just as well to take all possible 
precautions on your side, so that everything may 
seem clear and aboveboard if any objection is raised 
to the horse.” 

You don’t know this fellow, Ralton,” said Tom ; 
“ he’s a desperate man, and a regular scoundrel. He 
owes me one, and he will do his best to pay me out.” 

Have you any idea where Abduction came 
from ? ” said Shanklin, looking at Tom keenly. 

Tom looked confused. It was not in his nature 
to tell a lie. After a few moments’ thought, he said : 

Yes, I have an idea where she came from, but I 
do not know her breeding, nor do I know Mystery’s 
sire.” 

Where do you think she came from ? ” asked 
Shanklin. 


170 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


'' From Mr. Andrews, Bullerana Station, N. S. W.,'’ 
said Tom. She was sold by a man to a friend of 
mine named Arthur Newman, who is at present 
at Bullerana Station. He wrote me about the mare, 
and said he fancied she was one that had been taken 
fi^om that station. When he bought her in Hobart, 
however, he had no idea of such a thing, and firmly 
believed the man who sold her to him was the right- 
ful owner. When Newman cleared out he sold her 
to Jos Kelly, and I took a half share in her and the 
foal, which is Mystery.’’ 

I fancy I know more about the mare than you 
do,” said Shanklin. I have been making a few in- 
quiries on my own account. If I were in your posi- 
tion I would write to Mr. Andrews and place the 
whole case before him, explaining why you have 
not done so before. If I know George Andrews 
aright he will side with you and not with Ralton. 
Take my word for it, that will be your best plan.” 

'' But Kelly will not agree to it. He says it will 
spoil the whole game,” said Tom. 

Jos is no fool,” said Shanklin; and if you ex- 
plain it to him clearly, he will make no objections. 
It is the only way to circumvent Hugh Ralton.” 

You appear to take a lot of interest in this case,” 
said Tom ; what reason have you for doing so ? ” 

I cannot give you a reason that would satisfy 
you,” said Shanklin ; “ we detectives are often drawn 
into cases that fascinate us, and yet which hardly 
concern us. Call it curiosity, the love of a mystery, 
or what you will, I am interested in the case — not 
pecuniarily — and there’s an end of it. I can tell 


A NOTE OF WARNING. 


171 

you no more. I will, however, assist you all that 
lies in my power to thwart Hugh Ralton. I have 
put a spoke in his wheel already.” 

Do you know him?” asked Tom. 

Oh, yes, I know him,” said Shanklin, with a 
merry twinkle in his eyes, and he will know me 
before long, and be very much surprised when he 
finds out who I am.” 

Tom felt that Shanklin’s advice to write to Mr. 
Andrews was good, and he said to the detective : 

I will consult with Kelly, and I am sure I can 
persuade him it will be the best plan for me to 
write.” 

You will find it so in the end,” said Shanklin ; 
“ keep a copy of the letter before you send it, and 
let me see the original. I will post it for you. It 
is as well to be careful in every detail when you 
have a man like Ralton to deal with.” 

Do you think all these precautions necessary ? ” 
said Tom. 

I do. It is in paying attention to the most 
minute details that a detective does his best work,” 
said Shanklin. 

Tom saw Jos Kelly, and had a long and animated 
conversation with him. 

It took over a couple of hours for Tom to con- 
vince Kelly he was in the right, and when at last 
the trainer agreed to leave the matter in his hands, 
he said : 

“ Have your own way, but mind what I say. So 
sure as you write that letter to George Andrews, 
mischief will come of it.” 


172 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Right’s right,” said Tom ; never fear the con- 
sequences, Jos. I am confident Shanklin’s advice is 
for the best. He knows more about the mare than 
we think he does, and what is of more importance, 
he is on our side.” 

“Yes, that w a point in our favor,” said Kelly; 
“ I’m blest if I should care for Shanklin to be 
opposed to us.” 

Tom Wilde wrote to Mr. Andrews, and put the 
case clearly before him. He omitted nothing, from 
the time he agreed to take a half share in Abduction, 
up to his conversation with Shanklin. He mentioned 
Newman’s name, and said he would not write to his 
friend, but leave the matter entirely with Mr. 
Andrews. He requested him to come over and see 
the mare before the races, and if he found her to be 
his property, he had no doubt they could enter into 
an equitable arrangement about her. 

This letter was shown to Shanklin, who posted it 
and kept the copy Tom had made of it. 

The letter did not reach George Andrews’ hands. 

Hugh Ralton often opened the letter-bag when 
the mail arrived, and on the particular morning 
when Tom Wilde’s letter reached Bullerana he 
happened to do so. 

The postmark “ Hobart ” attracted his attention. 
The letter was not from Mr. Rath, for he knew that 
gentleman’s handwriting. He had an idea the writ- 
ing on this letter was familiar to him. 

He turned the envelope up and down, and ex- 
amined it curiously. 

It suddenly occurred to him it might be from Tom 


A NOTE OF WARNING, 


173 

Wilde, and now he examined the handwriting again ; 
it certainly looked like it. 

He put the letter in his pocket. He determined 
to see what it contained. If the contents were 
harmless, well and good, he could stick the envelope 
again, and no one would be the wiser. 

He took the letter to his own house, and after 
steaming it over the kettle, opened it. When he 
read Tom Wilde's letter, his face expressed what his 
feelings were. 

‘‘You fool," he muttered; “by Jove, it’s lucky 
I got hold of this letter. If that soft-hearted booby 
Andrews had got hold of it, all my plans would have 
gone to the wall. I’ll be even with you, Tom Wilde. 
I have a shot in my locker for you that you little 
dream of.’’ 

He tore the letter up, and felt safer when he saw 
it slowly burn away as he put it in the grate, lighted 
a match, and set fire to it. 

“ I hope Richard Murton has received that pre- 
cious document I sent him,’’ he said to himself with 
a laugh. “ Much good may it do him. George 
Andrews, you really ought to write a more difficult 
signature. It is too ridiculously easy to imitate. 
If I wanted to draw on you, I really believe I could 
obtain any amount I required with that signature. 
It might come in useful some day. I have had one 
‘ let off ’ at home, I must be careful not to put my 
foot into the meshes of the law too deep. I shall 
be very hard pushed if I use George Andrews’ sig- 
nature, but it is just as well to know I could manage 
it at a pinch. I wonder where Ada is ? Over at 


174 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


old Andrews’, of course. Much good may it do 
her; I believe if she could conveniently get rid of 
me, she would take compassion on him. Bah ! 
what fancies women have ; he’s old enough to be 
her father. Oh, here she comes.” 

Ada Ralton entered the house,, and came into the 
room where her husband stood. 

Been over to Andrews’, I suppose,” said Ral- 
ton, 

Yes, have you any objections ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ None at all,” he replied : “ only I am sorry for 
the old man.” 

“ What do you mean, Hugh ? ” 

‘‘ That George Andrews is mighty fond of your 
society, Ada, and no wonder. I fancy he likes you 
because you are so kind to his child,” he added, as 
he saw an angry gleam in her eyes, and he did not 
wish her to lose her influence over Andrews. 

I do my best for the motherless child,” said 
Ada ; I know from experience what it is to lose a 
mother’s care.” 

Hugh Ralton growled, and went out of the room. 
He did not like these hints about the past, they 
irritated him. 

Ada Ralton thought over what her husband had 
said about George Andrews. She knew when he 
alluded to the child it was merely an after-thought. 

Was George Andrews really fond of her in the 
way Hugh Ralton she knew had suggested? If 
so, it was her duty to avoid him. And yet she 
did not want to avoid him. She knew George 
Andrews was a good, honest man, and he loved his 


A NOTE OF IVARNING. 


I7S 

child dearly. That child Ada Ralton also loved, 
and it was a bond of sympathy between them. 

George Andrews treated her like a younger sister, 
and if his feelings for her were of a far warmer 
nature, he took care to hide them from her. 

She was placed in a difficult position. Ada 
Ralton was, however, a woman of character, and she 
had a firm will when occasion required. 

She meant to do her duty by Hugh Ralton at all 
cost. She had married him — forced him to marry her 
— and she would carry out her part of the compact. 

She learned more and more every day the depth 
of deceit and selfishness in her husband’s nature, 
but she strove hard to blind herself to it. 

She was determined to obey him when such obe- 
dience did not touch her conscientious notion of right 
and wrong. She would do what was right for him, 
but not what she considered wrong. 

Hugh Ralton had related to George Andrews 
most of the conversation he had with Richard Mur- 
ton, and he urged him to take steps to recover his 
property. 

George Andrews had promised Mr. Rath to go to 
Hobart on business, or it is doubtful whether Ralton 
could have persuaded him to undertake the journey 
merely for the purpose of recovering Royal Pardon 
and her colt Mystery. 

When George Andrews and his daughter, and 
Hugh Ralton and his wife left for Hobart, Arthur 
Newman was left in charge at Bullerana. 

He inwardly chafed at this, but saw no way out 
of the difficulty. He would have preferred going 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


176 

to Hobart to his friends the Wildes, and to see Mys- 
tery run in the Cup. 

He knew Ralton’s journey to Hobart boded no 
good to Tom Wilde, so he sent him a cablegram to 
let him know the parties had left for Tasmania. 

When Tom received the news he at once com- 
municated it to Detective Shanklin. 

‘‘ Curious Mr. Andrews never answered my letter,” 
said Tom. 

He never received it,” said Shanklin. 

But he must have done. You posted it your- 
self,” said Tom. 

And probably Mr. Hugh Ralton handled the 
post-bag, and guessed who it was from,” said 
Shanklin. 

Do you mean to say ” began Tom. 

“ I mean to say that Hugh Ralton got your letter, 
and not George Andrews. I’ll stake my reputation 
on that. If Andrews had received it he would have 
answered it. You take my advice again, Tom Wilde. 
Call at The Mount. You have a good excuse, you 
sly dog,” said Shanklin, with a wink. 

What do you mean?” said Tom, looking con- 
fused. 

The excuse ? ” said Shanklin. Miss Agnes 
Murray, of course, and a very nice young lady she 
is. Well, you call at The Mount. You will meet 
Mr. Andrews to a certainty. Ask him if he received 
your note. If he did not you know how to act.” 

How?” said Tom. 

Tell him you believe Hugh Ralton abstracted it 
from the letter-bag and destroyed it.” 


A NOTE OF WARNING, 


177 


He will not believe that/' said Tom. 

^‘ Yes, he will. You explain everything to him, 
and ril bet you he makes it hot for Ralton.” 

But suppose I cannot see him ? " said Tom. 

“Bosh," said Shanklin. “You must see him. 
My whole plan will be spoilt if you don’t." 

“ What is your plan ? " asked Tom. 

“ Wait and see," said Shanklin. “ Leave all to 
me. I promise you Mystery shall run, and that 
Hugh Ralton shall be defeated, routed totally." 

“ I’m sick of the whole thing," said Tom. “ If it 
were not for Kelly I would throw the whole thing 
up and scratch the horse." 

“You cannot scratch him without Kelly’s con- 
sent," said Shanklin, “ so do not talk rubbish. 
What you have got to do now is to see George 
Andrews and find out if he got your letter. If he 
did not, tell him the whole story." 

“Very well," said Tom, “but I can hardly see 
what you are driving at. If the mare is Mr. Andrews’ 
property all we can do is to hand her over and also 
Mystery, and there’s an end of it." 

“ No, there is not an end of it. George Andrews 
will let you run the horse, and it would not surprise 
me at all if he gave both the mare and Mystery to 
you and Kelly. I’m sure you deserve it," said 
Shanklin. 

“ I could not accept such an offer even if it was 
made, which is improbable," said Tom. 

“ Never look a gift horse in the mouth," said 
Shanklin. “ Take it, and be thankful." 

12 


178 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


When Tom had gone Detective Shanklin sat 
down and was evidently pleased with his thoughts. 
He said to himself: 

'' I fancy you will be surprised when you meet 
Richard Murton on the race-course, Hugh Ralton.*' 


Q UlTE BY A CCIDENT 


179 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

QUITE BY ACCIDENT. 

When Tom Wilde told Jos Kelly that Shanklin’s 
advice was to see George Andrews and tell him the 
whole case regarding Mystery, the trainer fancied 
he must have taken leave of his senses. 

If you tell Andrews it is a hundred to one he 
will claim both the mare and the horse, and we shall 
not get a run for our money. That will be deuced 
hard lines on me/’ said Kelly ; because I have had 
all the trouble of training him, and the horse is as 
fit as hands can make him. I think he can win the 
Cup, and if you throw away a chance you are a fool.” 

We must risk it, Kelly,” said Tom ; it is far 
better than having a scene on the course, and the 
horse not being allowed to run at the last moment. 
You may depend upon it, Ralton knows what this 
mare is, and if so, he will do all in his power to pre- 
vent Mystery from starting. The only way to dis- 
arm him is to get George Andrews on our side. If 
we do that we are safe, because Ralton can do 
nothing without his sanction. If George Andrews 
recognizes the mare, we can state the facts to the 
stewards and committee of the club, and they will 
allow the horse to run.” 


i8o 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


Do as you like/’ said Kelly ; ‘^butl have an idea 
all my trouble will be thrown away.” 

Tom Wilde went to The Mount, where he was a 
welcome visitor, bent on seeing George Andrews. 

As he walked up to the gate he saw some one 
coming down the drive, and at once divined from 
the man’s appearance it was George Andrews. 

Such, indeed, it proved to be, and Tom lost no 
time in making himself known. 

So you are Tom Wilde?” said Andrews ; who 
was favorably impressed with him. 

Yes, Mr. Andrews, and I am very glad I met you 
alone. I should like to have a few words with you 
if you can spare the time, and I do not want Hugh 
Ralton to see us together.’’ 

I believe you and Ralton are not on good terms,” 
said Andrews, with a smile. 

‘‘ No, we are not. He did us a great injury in the 
old country, and has done all in his power to thwart 
me since he has been in the colonies,” said Tom. 

We can walk along the road,” said George 
Andrews. I have nothing particular to do, and 
you can tell me what you have to say.” 

'' Did you receive a letter from me ? ” asked Ton.. 

No,” said George Andrews in surprise, wonder- 
ing what Tom could have written to him about. 

I thought not,” replied Tom, or you would 
have answered it.” 

‘‘ Most certainly I should,” said Andrews ; it 
must have gone astray.” 

It did, and I think I know how it went astray,” 
said Tom. 


QUITE BY A CCIDENT. i 8 1 

Indeed/’ said Andrews. How do you account 
for it?” 

I should be sorry to do any man a wrong,” 
said Tom, even Ralton, but I firmly believe he 
kept that letter from you, Mr. Andrews ; he had 
every reason for so doing.” 

‘‘1 hardly think Hugh Ralton would go so far as 
that,” said George Andrews, dryly. 

‘‘ He is capable of far worse actions than that,” 
said Tom. He then went on to explain what 
Shanklin had said to him, and Andrews commenced 
to think there was a good deal of truth in it. 

Mr. Andrews, I want you to see this mare of 
ours, Abduction we call her. If she is your property, 
then it will be for you to say what action you will 
take in regard to her and the horse Mystery. I 
want everything to be done in a straightforward 
manner, and place myself unreservedly in your 
hands. If, as I believe, the mare was stolen from 
your station, then you can take possession of her, 
and let me purchase her and Mystery. Can you 
arrange to come to the farm and see her, without 
Hugh Ralton’s knowledge ? ” 

Certainly,” said Andrews ; ‘‘ I admire your 
straightforwardness, Tom Wilde. Would there 
were more young men of your stamp out here. I 
will question Ralton to-night about the letter.” 

“ I would not do so at present,” said Tom. Let 
matters take their course. As we drive to the farm 
I can open your eyes as to the true character of this 
man, and then I think you will agree with me the 
better plan will be to let him carry out his plans, and 


i 82 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


with your aid put a stop to them when he plays his 
trump card. This will show you what he really is, 
and to what means he will resort out of a spirit of 
revenge.'’ 

As you wish,” said Andrews. I will meet you 
to-morrow morning at eight o’clock.” 

Punctually to time, George Andrews met Tom 
Wilde in Hobart, and they drove to Rydal Farm. 

On the way thither, Tom had ample time to tell 
him how Ralton had behaved to himself and his 
father when he was the Duke’s agent. 

George Andrews was indignant with Ralton, and 
spoke his mind freely about his conduct. 

Then Tom proceeded to relate how he had knocked 
Ralton down in the gardens at The Mount, and 
George Andrews’ opinion was the same as Mr. Rath’s 
— it served him right.” 

George Andrews was soon on the best of terms 
with John Wilde, and Tom’s father found in the 
owner of Bullerana Station a congenial companion. 

The two men were about the same age, and their 
temperaments were similar. After a glass of genu- 
ine Cascade ale, Tom said : 

Now, Mr. Andrews, come and look at Abduction. 
This is the important part of the business, and so 
much depends upon it.” 

John Wilde accompanied them, and he hoped for 
Tom’s sake all would turn out right. Even if Ab- 
duction was George Andrews’ mare, he had a shrewd 
suspicion that gentleman would not be too hard upon 
Tom. 

When they reached the paddock Tom saw Abduc- 


QUITE BY ACCIDENT 


I S3 

tion was in the far corner, and without saying any- 
thing he walked across with them in her direction. 

When the mare saw him she gave a faint neigh of 
recognition, and came towards the group. 

Mr. Andrews was talking to John Wilde, and 
hardly noticed her until she came near to them. 
He no sooner saw Abduction than he gave an ex- 
clamation of surprise, and said : 

By Jove, that’s her sure enough. That’s Royal 
Pardon, Mr. Wilde, and she was stolen from my 
station ; I supposed by a man called Richard Mur- 
ton. She is a well-bred mare, by Splendor out of 
Remorse. I bred her myself. Her foal would be 
by Trenton. By Jove, Tom Wilde, he ought to be a 
good one.” 

“ And so he is,” said Tom, with a sigh ; ‘‘ I shall 
be sorry to part with him, and the mare too. They 
are, however, your property, and I will hand them 
over to you whenever you desire.” 

George Andrews’ eyes twinkled with merriment. 
“We will talk about that when we get back to the 
house,” he said. “ The mare is in splendid condition. 
I must congratulate you upon the way you manage 
your horses.” 

“ I am very fond of her,” said Tom ; “ and she will 
do anything I want her to.” 

John Wilde was sorely disappointed. For Tom’s 
sake he wished Abduction had not been Royal Par- 
don. They were in the cosy sitting-room at Rydal 
Farm again, and Tom left the two elders to have a 
friendly chat. 

“ He’s ^ fine fellow that son of yours, Mr. Wilde^” 


184 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


said George Andrews. I wish I had such a son,’' 
he added, with a sigh. 

Yes, Mr. Andrews, he is the best son a father 
could possibly have,” said John Wilde with pride, 
the tears coming into his eyes. He has been the 
one comfort of my life. He has seldom caused me 
pain, although like youngsters will do at times, he 
has occasionally kicked over the traces. He’s none 
the worse for that. I like a lad with plenty of met- 
tle in him, provided he is not vicious, and Tom has 
not a particle of vice in him.” 

That I am sure he has not,” said George Andrews, 
warmly. 

I am sorry for Tom’s sake Abduction turns out 
to be your mare,” said John Wilde. You have no 
idea what a pride he takes in her. She is, I believe, 
in foal to The Assyrian. Her colt. Mystery, has 
a real good chance in the Hobart Cup. I should 
advise you to let him run in the name of Tom and 
his trainer.” 

‘‘ Mystery shall run if I can have my way,” said 
George Andrews. I will see the committee of the 
club about it myself. The nominations can be 
amended with their consent, and I am sure they will 
accede to it.” 

Tom,” said John Wilde, as his son entered, “ Mr. 
Andrews says Mystery shall run for the Cup if the 
club authorities will permit it.” 

I’m right glad of that, father,” said Tom ; ‘‘ for 
I believe he will win. When shall you want to take 
the mare back to Sydney ? ” asked Tom, sadly. 

Tom Wilde, you do not know George Andrews, 


QUITE BY ACCIDENT. 


or you would never ask such a question. I shall 
not take the mare back to Sydney, nor shall I take 
Mystery. Your father says that the mare is in foal 
to The Assyrian. I will tell you what I will do. 
Let me have the foal when it is a year old and I will 
make you a present of both Royal Pardon and 
Mystery.” 

Tom could hardly speak. His heart was too full 
of joy. 

John Wilde rose from his chair and took George 
Andrews’ hand, wringing it in a good, old-fashioned, 
hearty grip that said more than words. 

You are too generous, Mr. Andrews,” said Tom. 

It’s not a fair bargain.” 

Then keep the foal and give me the mare and 
Mystery,” said George Andrews, with a laugh, ‘‘that 
is if you prefer it. No, on second thoughts I will 
not alter my proposal. The mare is mine, and so is 
Mystery, and if you do not agree to my request 
and keep both, I will not let the horse run in the 
Cup.” 

“ You are joking,” said Tom. 

“ Honor bright, no,” said George Andrews. “You 
must let me have my own way in this. You see I 
am getting an old man, and I am not a poor one, and 
I generally have my own way.” 

“ What a wonderfully clever man Shanklin is,” 
said Tom. 

“ Who is he ? ” asked Andrews. 

“ The detective I told you of who advised me to 
tell you all the particulars and write that letter to 
you. 


i86 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Which I did not receive/’ said Andrews. I am 
convinced from all I have heard and seen that Hugh 
Ralton obtained possession of that letter. But why 
is Detective Shanklin such a clever man?” 

Because he is invariably right in his surmises 
and estimates of men’s characters,” said Tom. He 
told me he felt certain you would hand over the 
mare and Mystery to myself and Kelly if you knew 
the whole of the facts.” 

I admire that man,” said George Andrews. 

You must introduce me to him. I like a man that 
has such a good opinion of me. I shall be getting 
quite vain, and that will not do at my time of life. 
Leave that to young sparks like you, Tom Wilde. 
By-the-bye, you have an ardent champion at The 
Mount,” he said, with a smile. Can you guess who 
it is? ” 

Tom laughed as he replied, I think I have a good 
idea, Mr. Andrews.” 

No doubt, you young dog,” said George An- 
drews. ‘‘You can tell Miss Agnes Murray that 
Royal Pardon and Mystery were a wedding present 
to her future husband, and that when the happy 
event does come off George Andrews will give her 
something to mark his appreciation of her heart’s 
choice.” 

“ I am afraid you are anticipating,” said Tom, 
with a laugh. “ I have not asked her if she will have 
me yet.” 

“ Then if you are not sharp about it I’ll propose 
to her myself,” said George Andrews. “ Bless my 
soul, young man, you should not hang fire when 


QUITE BY ACCIDENT. 


187 

there is a stake like that to be won. Agnes Murray 
is a girl any man might be proud to call wife. What's 
more, sir, she is deeply in love with you." 

‘^Then I must try my luck," said Tom. 

Try your luck, you young hypocrite, you know 
very well it is a certainty," said George Andrews. 

They chatted on till late in the afternoon, and 
George Andrews was loth to leave such hospitable 
quarters. 

I must see Mystery now, Tom," he said. I have 
a great interest in him. If he wins the Hobart Cup 
we will have a jollification." 

“ We can go over to Kelly's place and see him at 
Glenorchy any time you like," said Tom. ‘‘The 
Cup is run next week, so you have not much time 
to spare." 

It was arranged that Tom should take George 
Andrews to see Kelly next day. 

George Andrews returned to Hobart by rail, and 
no one at The Mount was any the wiser as to where 
he had been. 

Had Hugh Ralton known where George Andrews 
had spent the day and all that had transpired, he 
would have been very uneasy. 

He was, however, in total ignorance of the forces 
working against him, and was in high spirits at the 
success which had so far attended his scheme. 

He wished George Andrews to pay a visit to 
Rydal Farm and see the mare Abduction, and he 
promised Ralton he would do so. 

“ I will go to New Norfolk myself," he said. “ I 
fancy I can easily get a look at her if I call at Rydal 


i88 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Farm. I hear the Wildes are hospitable, and always 
pleased to see visitors.’' 

With this Hugh Ralton was contented, little think- 
ing George Andrews had already been to Rydal 
Farm. 

He was still more delighted when George Andrews 
informed him a day or two after that he had been 
to New Norfolk, seen the mare, and he had at once 
recognized her as Royal Pardon. 

Then we can easily stop Mystery from running,” 
said Ralton. It will cause a bit of a sensation on 
the course, I guess.” 

‘Wes,” said George Andrews, “it will be lively, 
and,” he added in an undertone to himself, “ but 
hardly in the manner you expect, Hugh Ralton.” 


RALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES, 


189 


CHAPTER XIX. 

RALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES. 

Hugh Ralton thought he had played his cards 
well. 

He saw no chance of failure in his scheme for Tom 
Wilde’s discomfiture. 

One morning he met a member of the committee 
of the Tasmanian Turf Club in the Oriental Hotel. 

Ralton had only spoken to him once or twice, but 
he thought this would be a favorable opportunity 
to sound him on the question of Mystery’s dis- 
qualification in case there was a flaw in the nom- 
ination. 

It was a great shock to Ralton when he heard 
from this gentleman that an alteration had already 
been made in Mystery’s nomination, and that the 
club was in full possession of the facts of the case. 

He concealed his surprise and chagrin as well as 
he was able. Then he asked : 

‘‘ I presume Mr. Wilde made these representa- 
tions ? ” 

“ I believe so. I was not present at the time.” 
Did Mr. Wilde merely give what he believed to 
be the breeding of Mystery ? ” 

That is all. Of course, it is somewhat peculiar 


190 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


even now. I should say no one exactly knows how 
the horse is bred. I presume, however, there will 
be no objection lodged against him.’' 

Hugh Ralton smiled unpleasantly as he thought 
to himself every objection would be lodged that had 
a chance of being successful. 

Who the deuce has put Tom Wilde up to this 
dodge,” he thought. “ He must have received a 
hint as to the true state of the case. Yet he can 
hardly know the mare was stolen, or he would not 
venture to run Mystery. Andrews cannot have told 
him, because had he done so Wilde would have 
known the whole truth.” 

It suddenly occurred to Ralton that Dick Murton 
might have come in contact with Tom Wilde and 
told him part of the story, concealing the fact that 
the mare was stolen by himself. He had not come 
across Murton since he had been in Hobart, but he 
had looked anxiously out for him. 

It puzzled Ralton as to where Murton could have 
got to. 

He thought perhaps the man had to keep dark in 
Hobart on account of his past career. 

Whatever it was that kept Dick Murton out of 
sight, Ralton had no doubt he would turn up at the 
right moment on the race-course. 

If he has peached to Tom Wilde,” said Ralton, 

I’ll take precious good care he gets no more money 
out of me.’’ 

He cautiously questioned George Andrews about 
the alteration Tom Wilde had made in the nomina- 
tion, but the worthy squatter professed ignorance. 


RALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES. 19 1 

and feigned surprise so well that Ralton was com- 
pletely taken in. 

Meanwhile all went on swimmingly with Mys- 
tery. 

The final winding-up gallop had taken place, and 
Jos Kelly was delighted at the colt’s prospects of 
success. 

We’ll make it hot for them,” he said to Tom 
Wilde. I never had such a good chance of. win- 
ning a race before, but I am deuced uneasy about 
that fellow Ralton. From what I can make out, he 
will stick at nothing. He’s an out-and-out bad lot 

you say. D it all ! he might injure the horse 

on the course if he found out how matters were 
going dead against him.” 

‘‘ I do not think he would go so far as that,” said 
Tom, although I am prepared to admit he does 
not stick at trifles. He knows such a course would 
get him into trouble.” 

‘‘Are you quite certain Mr. Andrews will stick 
to his promise ? ” said Kelly. 

“ I am sure he will do all he can to assist us 
against Ralton. I have managed to get him on our 
side in earnest. He knows what a thorough-paced 
scoundrel Ralton is. I feel sure he would give him 
notice his services were no longer required if there 
was not an obstacle in the way.” 

“ What’s the obstacle ? ” asked Kelly. 

“ Mrs. Ralton,” said Tom. 

“Whew!” whistled Kelly, that’s bad. With a 
woman in the case there is no telling what he might 
do. So Mr. Andrews is partial to Mrs. Ralton. 


192 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


That makes things look complicated. Confound it 
all, the women always get in the way.’' 

Oh, it’s not as bad as that,” said Tom. He is 
attached to Mrs. Ralton, I think, because' she is so 
fond of his daughter. She has no children of her 
own and not likely to have any I should say, and 
she is quite like a mother to the child. What made 
her marry a man like Ralton I cannot imagine. 
From what little I know of her in the old country 
she was about the last woman I should have ex- 
pected to become Mrs. Ralton.” 

Women take peculiar fancies,” said Jos Kelly. 

They are like fillies, skittish, and you never know 
when you have got ’em safe.” 

Jos Kelly’s dictum that women take peculiar fan- 
cies was true in the case of Mrs. Rath. Since Hugh 
Ralton had been at The Mount, again he exercised 
a fascination over her which even the presence of 
his wife could not completely overcome. 

Ada Ralton felt there was some secret between 
them. What it was she was determined to find out. 

She had no love for Ralton now and no respect. 
She was commencing to think was it worth the 
sacrifice to marry him as she had done ? She still 
answered that question in the affirmative. ‘She still 
felt that it had been the only honorable course left 
open to her. 

But she was determined Hugh Ralton should 
keep to his part of the bargain. He was her hus- 
band and no other woman should come between 
them. 

Ada Ralton saw through Violet Rath’s fickle 


R ALTON NAS TWO SURPRISES. 


193 

nature. She knew she was a woman fond of ad- 
miration, and that was the sort of woman Ralton 
could fascinate. 

So Ada Ralton watched Violet Rath closely. 
She was determined that Hugh should not wreck 
William Rath’s life in that direction. For herself 
she hardly knew whether she cared about Ralton 
enough to be angry at his becoming entangled with 
another woman. Had that woman been other than 
Violet Rath, perhaps Ada Ralton would not have 
been so determined. 

She knew it was of very little use speaking to 
Hugh Ralton on the subject, and she made up her 
mind to speak to Violet Rath. 

It was a bold step to take to even hint to her 
hostess that there was some bond of secrecy between 
her and Ralton. 

The opportunity for taking this step came sooner 
than Ada Ralton anticipated. 

Mrs. Rath came to Ada’s door and asked for 
something she had mislaid and which might prob- 
ably be in her room. 

Come in, Mrs. Rath, and sit down. I want to 
have a few minutes conversation with you now we 
are quite alone.” 

Violet Rath looked guilty and her heart com- 
menced to beat faster. She felt an indefinable dread 
of what was coming. She sat down opposite Ada, 
and said : 

“ Have you something very important to tell 
me?” 

‘‘Yes,” said Ada, “ of the utmost importance to 

13 


194 


ONLY A COMMOxVER. 


yourself and to me. You may think it strange of 
me, but I wish to give you a word of warning. 
Mrs. Rath, you are in danger.'* 

Violet Rath looked surprised as she said : 

Indeed, and pray when did you find that out ? " 
You are my hostess, Mrs. Rath," said Ada, ‘‘and 
therefore you may rest assured I would not say 
what I have to say unless I felt my duty compelled 
me to do so. I have seen a good deal of the world 
and a good deal of trouble, Mrs. Rath. I believe 
you and my husband have met before this present 
visit." 

“We have," said Mrs. Rath, blushing in spite of 
herself, at Ada's steady gaze. 

“ On that occasion I was not present, nor was I 
married to him, Mrs. Rath. There is some secret 
between you and my husband." 

“ Really, Mrs. Ralton," commenced Violet Rath. 

“ Pardon me interrupting you. It will save time," 
said Ada. “ I do not want to know what occurred 
when my husband was here before. I am not at all 
interested in his movements at that time. I knew 
what he was when I married him, but even I hardly 
thought him as unprincipled as he really is." 

“You appear to take it for granted that there is 
a mutual understanding between myself and Mr. 
Ralton," said Violet. “ I assure you there is noth- 
ing of the kind. He is an agreeable man and a 
pleasant companion." 

“ He can be both when he chooses," said Ada. 
“ None know that better than I do, Mrs. Rath. It 
will probably strike you as curious, but I wish to 


R ALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES. 


195 


warn you against my husband. Be careful how you 
deal with him. I think you understand me, or shall 
I speak plainer.” 

Mrs. Ralton, you insult me with such suspi- 
cions,” said Violet. 

I have no intention of insulting you, Mrs. Rath. 
I am advising you as a friend, to avoid Hugh Ral- 
ton. You need not think I am saying this because 
I am jealous. Nothing could ever make me jealous 
of Hugh Ralton.” She said this so emphatically, 
that Violet Rath looked at her in astonishment. 

I see you are surprised at what I say,” said Ada, 
but it is the truth. The lives of men and women 
are mingled in the strangest manner sometimes, and 
none more so than my husband’s and my own. Out 
of pure regard for yourself and,” — she hesitated a 
moment — and for Mr. Rath,” she added. I have 
purposely put you on your guard against Mr. Ral- 
ton. You have a good, kind husband, Mrs. Rath ; 
be thankful for such a blessing. I can assure you 
it is an inestimable blessing.” 

Violet Rath was rapidly coming to the conclusion 
that Mrs. Ralton was acting towards her in a way 
very few women would have done. 

Violet Rath felt that had she been compelled to 
say what Ada Ralton had said, there would have 
been a scene. Here was a situation, however, that 
went completely beyond her grasp. A woman act- 
ually putting another woman on her guard against 
her own husband. 

Ada saw she had made a favorable impression, 
and said : 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


196 

Mrs. Rath, it is my duty to tell you Hugh Ral- 
ton is a man not to be trusted with any woman’s 
honor. He is utterly selfish and base where we are 
concerned.” 

Why did you marry such a man ? ” was all Violet 
Rath could say in reply. 

Because it was my duty to marry him, and his 
duty to marry me. I made my husband marry me, 
Mrs. Rath.” 

Violet Rath looked at Ada for a few moments, 
and then holding out her hand, said : 

I believe all you say, Mrs. Ralton ; few women 
would have acted as you have done. I will be can- 
did with you because you deserve my confidence. I 
was foolish enough to be fascinated by Mr. Ralton 
on the occasion of his first visit. It was a mere 
harmless flirtation, nothing more. Your presence 
on the present visit, Mrs. Ralton, ought to prove to 
you that nothing of the kind has taken place on 
this occasion. I am not a bad woman, although I 
may not have your courage or strength of mind. 
Believe me, Mrs. Ralton, I shall always be your friend 
if you will let me.” 

I want you to be my friend,” said Ada, candidly ; 
‘‘ I want to be your friend. That is why I have 
spoken to you as I have to-night. You must know 
the task is not pleasant, but it was a duty I owed to 
myself and to you, to put you on your guard. We 
are not all constituted alike, Mrs. Rath. You are 
more impressionable than I am now. We need never 
allude to the unpleasant subject again. I know I 
can trust you after what you have heard to-night.” 


R ALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES. 197 

‘‘ You can indeed/' said Violet, with more genuine 
feeling than she had shown for a long time. 

She felt she was in the presence of a woman far 
nobler than herself. A woman who had cruelly 
wounded her own pride in order to warn her of 
danger. 

Violet Rath was frivolous, but she had sense 
enough to recognize the pride in Ada’s nature, and 
to know what her words had cost her. 

The two women parted, each feeling better for the 
confidences they had exchanged. 

The first person Mrs. Rath met on entering the 
drawing-room was Hugh Ralton, and he was alone. 

He came towards her with his usual free-and-easy 
manner, but something in Violet Rath’s face warned 
him not to go too far. 

Surely it could not be repugnance towards him, 
and yet her expression was the reverse of friendly. 
However, he braced himself up, and said : 

“You look charming as usual, Violet. Where 
have you been passing the evening? I have been 
looking for you everywhere.” 

“ I have been with your wife,” she said calmly. 

Hugh Ralton started. There was something in 
the tone in which Violet Rath spoke that jarred upon 
him. 

“ I am glad you and Mrs. Ralton are such good 
friends,” he said with a half sneer. 

“ We are very good friends,” said Violet Rath ; 
“ I hope we always shall be so. Your wife is worthy 
of a better husband, Mr. Ralton.” 

Hugh Ralton was fairly staggered. He could not 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


198 

understand this sudden change from heat to ice in 
the impressionable Violet Rath. 

Good-night, Mr. Ralton,” said Violet. I am 
going to my room. I have a headache.’' 

She bowed slightly to him, and left him standing 
in a state of perplexity. 

‘‘ Ada must have been lecturing her,” he said. 

By Jove, I did not think she was jealous of me. 
Well, this is extraordinary. I had no idea Ada was 
so much in love with me. I must stop her from in- 
terfering with my pleasures, though.” 

He knocked at his wife’s room as he passed on 
the way to his own, and in response to her answer, 
went in. 

I have just seen Mrs. Rath,” he said. 

“ Indeed,” said Ada; it is not a very remarkable 
thing to meet one’s hostess in her own house.” 

‘‘ Don’t you take that high-handed, sarcastic tone 
with me, Ada,” he said ; “ it won’t do. You have 
been talking to Mrs. Rath.” 

I have,” she said. We parted excellent 
friends.” 

Is that unusual for a lady and her hostess ? ” he 
sneered. 

“ Yes, considering the nature of our conversation,” 
she replied. 

I had no idea you were such a jealous woman, 
Ada,” he said. 

Ada looked at him with such a contemptuous 
expression on her face, that he was startled. He had 
never seen her look like that before. 

‘^Jealous! Jealous of you, Hugh Ralton,” she 


R ALTON HAS TWO SURPRISES, 


199 


said haughtily ; that would be impossible. There 
can only be jealousy where there is love. Therefore 
you know how utterly impossible it is that I could 
be jealous of you. Good-night.” 

Hugh Ralton would have liked to strike her to the 
ground, but he dared not. He turned livid with 
rage, shook his clinched fist in her face, then turned 
quickly round and walked out of the room, banging 
the door after him. 

This scene with his wife was another unpleasant 
surprise. He commenced to wonder if there were 
any more such surprises in store for him. 


200 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


CHAPTER XX. 
i’ll tell you on the course. 

Hobart Cup da^* arrived at last. A day looked 
forward to as eagerly as was the Melbourne Cup in 
Victoria, or the Sydney Cup in New South Wales. 

It was a glorious day. A clear, blue, almost cloud- 
less sky, and with the sun not too powerful. It is 
seldom scorchingly hot in Tasmania. 

A day to make people rejoice, and to be glad they 
were alive. Some people are so callous to the 
beauties of nature, that they can pass through the 
most exquisite scenery without experiencing any- 
thing different from their ordinary sensations, and 
without being touched by the romance of their sur- 
roundings. Such people do not know what a bless- 
ing life is, nor do they participate in the grand, won- 
derful creation of which they are mere atoms. 

But John Wilde who had lived all his life amidst 
pastoral scenes, felt these beauties of nature. He 
had studied quiet, peaceful, country scenes all his 
life, and he revelled in such days as this. 

He was an observant man, far more so than many 
of his class, and he saw matters in a different light 
from the mere casual observer. So when the sun 
shone in at the windows at Rydal Farm, he found 


I^LL TELL YOU ON THE COURSE, 


201 


John Wilde up and alert, an active, hale man, and 
eager for the anticipated excitement of the day. 

Although he had never been mixed up with racing 
— he never had an inclination for it — he always 
allowed his son to keep a hunter in the old land, and 
he saw no harm in allowing him to keep a racer in 
the new. 

The gambling spirit had never touched John 
Wilde. He had grown excited almost beyond 
measure over a Farmer’s Plate or a Hunt Cup, but it 
was because his son Tom had a mount in it, and he 
wanted to see him first past the post. 

John Wilde had never been known to shirk a fence 
when he had ridden to hounds. There was no fear 
in him. Pie was not rash, but he possessed the 
indomitable energy, perseverance, and courage which 
is the heritage of every true-born British yeoman. 

He had taught his son Tom to ride early in life, 
and the lad proved an apt pupil. 

Pure love of horses and sport made John Wilde 
glad he was to see the Hobart Cup run for on this 
glorious day, glad to know his son’s colors would be 
up on the sterling colt Mystery. 

Being a cautious man, it was not John Wilde’s 
way to become enthusiastic about anything, much 
less a race-horse. 

He knew many of them were gambling machines, 
but he also knew many men ran horses for the sport 
alone. 

Still, the praises of Mystery had been so dinned 
into his ears by Tom Wilde and Jos Kelly, and 
latterly by George Andrews, that he had almost 


202 


ONL Y A COMMONER, 


persuaded himself to think the Cup was a foregone 
conclusion. 

As he looked out of the open window at the land- 
scape mapped out before him, John Wilde gave a 
sigh. 

True, he was happy. True, it was a day to which 
he had looked forward for weeks, and yet he sighed, 
and the moisture came into his eyes. 

What was it brought the regrets ? What was the 
reason of the sigh ? 

John Wilde was alone. 

His son Tom had gone to Hobart the night before, 
to be in readiness for the eventful day. 

So, being alone, John Wilde felt he could sigh and 
feel relief, without bringing a tinge of sadness to the 
heart of the son he so dearly loved, the son he had 
done so much for. 

And what had John Wilde done for his son? He 
had torn himself away from the land he loved. He 
had left the home of his fathers, and the grave of 
his dearly loved wife. He had wiped out old asso- 
ciations, and old affections, and had come to a far- 
distant land. 

It may not sound much to you, reader, but 
think for one moment what it meant to this sturdy 
English yeoman, rooted firmly as an oak into the 
soil his ancestors had tilled for three hundred 
years. 

The love of such a man for his native land almost 
“ surpasses the love of woman.” 

Born and bred at Hawthorn Farm, John Wilde 
had come to look upon it almost as his own. 


PLL TELL YOU ON THE COURSE. 203 

It ought to have been his had honest labor had 
its due. 

Hawthorn Farm was quite as much to John Wilde 
as any titled man's vast ancestral estates were to 
him. 

Some men cannot bear to see a tree felled on the 
land they love. 

They would miss a sturdy oak, or a high chestnut 
under whose shade they had played from childhood, 
almost more than they would miss a favorite horse 
or hound. 

If the storms of winter laid low a favorite tree, 
there would be a blot in the landscape in the coming 
spring. 

There are such men now, but they are few and 
far between. 

The young scions of noble houses often see naught 
but an increased banking account in their timbered 
estate. 

The mark of Cain is put upon the sturdy oak, and 
it is felled by the woodman's axe, or the more rapid 
process of the saw. 

Timber means money to these sprigs of nobility. 
They have no reverence for the landmarks of the past. 

John Wilde was a man it would have cut to the 
heart to see a tree on Hawthorn Farm laid low. He 
was, as it were, of the soil, and could feel the sap of 
life flow out of the tree with each slash and cut. 

Therefore, when John Wilde made up his mind 
to leave Hawthorn Farm and England, he rooted 
himself out of the soil, and felt inclined to wither 
away. 


204 


ONLY A COMMONE/L 


On this sunny morning in Tasmania he thought 
of what he had given up for his son, and it made 
him love Tom all the more. 

There was not a particle of selfishness in John 
Wilde’s nature. He had done what he had for his 
son, because of his great love for him, and his son 
had repaid him well. 

That was the bright spot in John Wilde’s retro- 
spect. Still, as he looked out on the scene before 
him, he could not help thinking of that other land- 
scape his eyes had so often dwelt lovingly upon. 

He saw again the valley and the peaceful stream, 
and the well-worn, white road winding along between 
those Derbyshire hills. He saw in the old Bradbourn 
churchyard the grave of the wife he loved, and whose 
death had been such a bitter pang. He heard the 
faint toll of the church-bell, as it echoed across those 
fields and wafted on the breeze, calling them to the 
Sunday morning service. 

He saw the old ivy-clad tower in which the birds 
made their nests undisturbed ; the peaceful church- 
yard, and the vicarage close by. Once as a boy in the 
days gone by he had been terribly frightened in that 
old churchyard. A pathway through it, wending 
in and out between the grave-stones, was a short cut 
home for him. He took it with a trembling heart 
and faltering footsteps. 

He remembered when in the middle of the church- 
yard he heard a dismal groan. His hair almost 
stood on end, and drops of sweat were on his brow. 
He felt clammy all over. How he ran that night ! 
He ran until he almost dropped, and had put a good 


I'LL TELL YOU OA^ THE COURSE, 205 

two miles between himself and the church. Then 
he remembered how his father had roared with 
laughter when he told the awful story. 

He almost heard his father’s cheery voice as he 
said : 

Why, John, lad, it was only old Tommy Waites’ 
bass fiddle. They were practising in the porch.” 

And such the awful groan proved to be ; because 
in those days there was no organ pealing and echo- 
ing through the aisle of that little village church, 
and the music consisted of three pr four string instru- 
ments. 

It was such thoughts as these that made John 
Wilde sigh on this sunny morning. 

He soon braced himself together, however. 

‘‘This will never do,” said John Wilde to himself. 
“ Bless my soul, fancy sighing a morning like this. 
But I couldn’t help it, Tom, my lad. I couldn’t 
help it. I’m not as young as thee, and the old tree 
takes more transplanting than the young.” 

“ But I’m right glad we’re here. I hope the horse 
will win the Cup,” he went on musing, his thoughts 
taking a different turn. 

“ Tom’s set his heart on it. Blest if I know what 
to think. I don’t half like that chap, Ralton, being 
mixed up in the affair. However, with George 
Andrews on our side we cannot have much to fear, 
Ralton’s sure to kick up a bother if he dare, and 
he’d go a long way to vex Tom. Hang the man, he 
did us enough harm on the other side of the world ; 
he might have left us alone on this.” 

John Wilde soon forgot the dream of the past he 


2o6 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


had indulged in as the train sped on its way from 
New Norfolk to Hobart. 

In Hobart all was bustle and life. For once in a 
way the inhabitants appeared to have awoke out of 
the comatose state they were usually in, and began 
to take an interest in the affairs of the world around 
them. 

The streets were thronged with visitors from the 
country and from Sydney and Melbourne, the latter 
contingent being mostly betting men who had come 
on from the Launceston races. 

It was a curious crowd, and the quaint old town 
looked quite lively and gay. 

The Raths had made up a party to drive to the 
course, but it did not include Hugh Ralton, who said 
he had some business on hand that would prevent 
his joining them, but he would be on the course in 
plenty of time for the first race. 

Ralton’s business was to meet Dick Murton, and 
sure enough he saw that worthy walk up at the 
exact time named in the note he had mysteriously 
received from him. 

When he saw Murton he was in high spirits, for 
he felt the stewards would have to accept this man’s 
evidence. It would be fresh evidence of which they 
were not cognizant, and were therefore bound to 
take note of. 

I thought you were dead, or had given me the 
slip,” said Ralton. It would have been the worse 
for you if you had played me false. I would have 
hounded you down no matter where you had got 

to.” 


PLL TELL YOU ON THE COURSE, 


207 


'' No fear of me not turning up,” said Murton. 

But it is just as well for me to keep dark in Hobart. 
I shall not be easily recognized in the race-course 
crowd. Have you got the money ? ” 

‘‘ What money ? ” asked Ralton in surprise. 

Come now, that’s good. You gave me £20 
down, and promised me ;^30 before the Cup,” said 
Murton. 

“ So I did,” said Ralton. ‘Wou shall have it on 
the course.” 

I prefer it now if you have no objections,” said 
Murton. 

Why ? ” asked Ralton, what difference can it 
make to you ? ” 

Because I shall not be seen taking it here. On the 
course is too public. I am well known to the police,” 
said Murton, with a chuckle. 

What the devil are you laughing at ? ” asked 
Ralton. It’s no laughing matter to be well known 
to the police, is it?” and he eyed him suspiciously. 

^^No. I can vouch for that. I laughed at the 
thought of once more being able to go to the race- 
course with thirty sovereigns, in my pocket,” said 
Murton. 

And what will you do with the money ? Bet, I 
suppose ? ” said Ralton. 

Of course. What else ? ” said Murton in sur- 
prise. 

Thought you would have more sense after all 
you have gone through,” said Ralton. What are 
you going to back ? Do you know anything ? ” 
Hugh Ralton knew that men like Murton often 


2o8 


ONLY A COMMONS 


get hold of a good tip from some one of their horsey 
associates. 

On the Cup ? said Murton. ‘‘ I fancy I have 
got a good thing.'* 

What is it ? " asked Ralton. 

All in good time. Where's the money ? " 

‘‘ Count that," said Ralton. 

“ Six fives," said Murton. 

, “ That's right ? " 

Yes." 

Now, what's your good thing? " said Ralton. 

“ I’ll tell you on the course," said Murton. I 
have to see a pal of the rider's first." 

Be sure and tell me when we meet there," said 
Ralton. I want to win a few hundreds as well 
as beat those Wildes and make them lose their 
money." 

Y ou’re terrible bitter against them," said Murton. 
“ Is it worth while running any risk? Why not go in 
and back their horse ? They say here in Hobart it 
can win." 

Who says ? " asked Ralton, savagely. 

“ Two or three friends of mine who are in the 
know with Jos Kelly," said Murton. 

“ Then what about your horse if Mystery can 
win ? " asked Ralton. 

‘‘ That's what I want , you to wait for until you 
get on the course. If we manage to stop Mystery 
running, then the horse I know about will win," 
said Murton. 

“Then we'll stop Mystery running at any price, 
and back your tip," said Ralton. “ Be sure and 


PLL TELL YOU OAT THE COURSE, 


209 


give it me on the course when we have settled 
Mystery.’^ 

Certain/* said Murton. We had better part 
now.** 

All serene,** said Hugh Ralton. I’ll meet you 
on the course.** 

Dick Murton looked after Hugh Ralton as he 
walked away and said to himself : 

I’ll tell you on the course, Mr. Hugh Ralton. 
At present it’s a mystery,” and the way Mr. Richard 
Murton rolled over this word as though he relished 
the flavor of it, appeared to bode no good to Ral- 
ton’s plans against the Wildes. 

14 


210 


ONLY A COMMONLJ^, 


CHAPTER XXL 

AN OBJECTION TO MYSTERY. 

Elwick race-course is perhaps the most pictur- 
esquely situated of any race-course in the colonies. 

It is not the best to race on, but, for the exquisite 
views it affords, few can surpass it. 

From the old-fashioned grand-stand which reminds 
one forcibly of the old stand formerly on Sherwood 
Forest race-course at Nottingham, a lovely view is 
obtained of fertile lands and mountainous scenery, 
and a glimpse of the river Derwent as it flows on its 
placid way. 

There is not such a roar from the betting ring at 
Elwick, the reason being that the totalizator is in 
vogue there. 

It is worked on somewhat primitive lines, and the 
rush to get at the ticket office often causes loss of 
temper as well as loss of money. 

It is a similar scene to that at the booking office 
of a populous railway station on an excursion day. 
The only difference is that you probably get your 
full money's worth out of the excursion, while with 
the machine you stand a good chance of losing your 
money for nothing in return. 

Elwick course was thronged on this particular 
Hobart Cup day, and the club anticipated a good 


AN OBJEC TION TO MYSTER K 2 1 1 

dividend from the totalizator, more especially as it 
was well known that at least half-a-dozen horses had 
already been heavily backed. 

Amongst these, of course, was Mystery, and hun- 
dreds of people were anxious to get a glimpse at the 
horse about which there was so much mystery. 

Early arrivals, however, were doomed to dis- 
appointment, for Jos Kelly had determined not to 
bring Mystery on to the course any earlier than was 
absolutely necessary. 

Mystery, although a quiet colt and free from vice, 
was somewhat nervous. 

This was not Kelly’s only reason for not bringing 
him down earlier. Ele had an idea some one meant 
mischief, and that if the colt could not be got at by 
fair means he would be by foul. 

Tom Wilde had laughed at this notion, but as 
Kelly stuck to it he did not think it worth while 
to interfere, in fact he knew it would be no use, 
because Jos Kelly invariably had his own way, as a 
sensible trainer ought to have. 

When John Wilde arrived on the course the first 
person he encountered was Hugh Ralton, and he 
considered it a bad omen. He tried to avoid Ralton, 
but could not do so. 

Glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Wilde,” 
said Ralton, with a sneer. ‘‘ Come to see Mystery 
win the Cup, I suppose ? ” 

Yes,” was the confident and laconic reply, and 
John Wilde walked on. 

Mystery has no chance,” said Ralton. He will 
not even start.” 


212 


ONLY A COMMOATBI^. 


“Not start/’ said John Wilde, startled out of hia 
usual composure. “ How can you possibly know it ? ” 

“ I do know it, and I have evidence in my posses- 
sion which, when placed before the stewards, will 
prove so conclusive they dare not allow him to run.” 

“ Then you ought to have produced your evi- 
dence before, and not kept it until an hour or so 
before the race when the horse is heavily backed. I 
call it shameful,” said John Wilde. 

“ Don’t waste words on him, father,” said Tom 
Wilde, who came up at the time the conversation was 
going on. “ Come with me.” 

“ You will have to waste a good many words with 
me, as you call it,” said Ralton, “ before the day is 
over.” 

“ He says he has conclusive evidence which, when 
placed before the stewards, will prevent Mystery 
from starting,” said John Wilde. 

“ Do not believe a word of it, father. You ought 
to know by this time what Hugh Ralton’s word is 
worth. That,” said Tom, snapping his finger and 
thumb. 

Hugh Ralton made a step forward, but Tom said, 
quietly : 

“ I have knocked you down once, Hugh Ralton, 
and I will do it again here in the paddock if you 
dare to raise your hand to me.” 

Ralton knew he meant what he said. He would 
have been satisfied to have tried conclusions again 
with Tom Wilde, but not here on the race-course. 
That would have upset his game altogether. He 
merely said : 


AN OBJECTION TO MYSTERY, 213 

We shall see who is victorious at the end of the 
day, you or I, Tom Wilde/’ 

“We shall,” said Tom. “I have no doubt as to 
the result. I can afford to be magnanimous, having 
such a good thing on for the Cup. Take my advice 
and have a fiver on Mystery. It is about the only 
good turn I shall ever do you.” 

Hugh Ralton walked away in a passion, and Tom 
Wilde and his father joined the Raths, who were on 
the lawn in front of the stand. 

They were cordially greeted, for both father and 
son were popular with all, and more especially with 
the party from The Mount. 

Agnes Murray’s eyes met Tom Wilde’s in honest 
fearlessness. They knew they loved each other, but 
as yet the word had not been spoken between them. 

“ I hope Mystery will win the Cup,” said Agnes. 

“ So do I,” said Tom. “1 have just met Ralton, 
and he threatens to disclose something which will 
prevent him from running. I did not let him see I 
thought there was anything in his threat, but there 
may be. He is a dangerous man. I shall be glad 
when the race is over.” 

“ He will do you no harm, Tom,” said Agnes. 
“ He may try, but I am certain he will not succeed.” 

“Thanks for your encouragement,” said Tom, 
warmly. “ I hope your words will prove true.” 

“ I am sure they will,” said Agnes. 

Hugh Ralton went in search of Dick Murton after 
the first race, but nowhere could he find that in- 
dividual, although he searched high and low. 

“ Confound the fellow, he must have gone on a 


214 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


spree with the money I gave him. No, he's hardly 
likely to do that, because he fancies there is more to 
follow. There you are mistaken Murton, my boy. 
When I have used you and your evidence the police 
will probably renew their acquaintance with you ? " 

Hugh Ralton gave an almost imperceptible shiver 
as he mentioned the police. 

Bah ! ” he said to himself, what a nervous fool 
I must be getting. The police, well, they’ll never 
want me — or if they do I hope they will not find 
me.” 

Hugh Ralton saw a crowd at the entrance to the 
paddock, and as the gates were opened, he saw a 
horse closely hooded being led in by a horsey-look- 
ing man who had a couple of boys with him. 

What horse is that ? ” he asked a bystander. 

I expect it’s Mystery, judging by the crowd 
around him. I’m off to have a look. They say he’s 
sure to win the Cup, bar accidents.’ 

D Mystery,” muttered Ralton. Why 

should every one think this cursed animal will win 
the Cup ? ” 

He too followed the crowd which soon pressed 
round the horse. 

Stand back, you fools. If you want a good run 
for your money, don’t frighten the wits out of him 
before he starts,” said Jos Kelly. 

That’s right, Jos. Let ’em have it. They’re a 
lot of ignoramuses. Good luck to ye, Kelly. I hope 
ye’ll win the Cup.” 

Such were the answers shouted back at him. 

It was with difficulty Jos Kelly got Mystery safely 


AN OBJECTION TO MYSTERY. 215 

to his stall. When he accomplished that end he gave 
a sigh of relief. 

I never took as much trouble in navigating Mrs. 
Jos Kelly through a crowd as I did with you, old 
boy,” he said, as he patted Mystery ; ‘‘ she's more 
capable of looking after herself. She’s only got a 
pair of legs^ that’s certain, and you’ve four, but be- 
gad, she beats you in tongue, hollow. No crowd 
would ever bear up to her when that wagged.” 

Ralton had induced a trainer running a horse 
in the race, to formally lay an objection against 
Mystery, as he could not do it himself, having no 
horse running. He would bring forward the evidence 
in support of the objection. 

While the crowd were gaping and staring at Mys- 
tery, the majority of them having more knowledge 
of cows than horses, Hugh Ralton was again search- 
ing for Murton. 

At last he found him coolly having a drink at the 
bar. 

Where the deuce have you been ? ” said Ralton ; 
we’ve not much time to lose. The objection has 
been lodged with the stewards. You are quite cer- 
tain you know what you have to say.” 

'‘Of course I do,” said Murton angrily; “ do you 
think I’m a fool ? ” 

"You’ve been drinking,” said Ralton. 

" No I ain’t,” said Murton with a leer. 

" If you touch another drop it will be the worse 
for you,” said Ralton. 

" Honor bright. I’ll see you through with this job,,” 
$^id Murton. 


2i6 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


Then Til go to the stewards at once/* said 
Ralton. 

He had no difficulty in seeing the stewards, and 
he placed the whole of the case in connection with 
Mystery before them. He found they knew more 
than he anticipated. 

The stewards desired to hear what Mr. George 
Andrews had to say in the matter. 

When he appeared before them he stated exactly 
what he knew, and, much to Ralton*s surprise, said 
he did not care to raise an objection on his own 
account. 

While the arguments for and against, were being 
considered by the stewards, the news spread like 
wildfire that there was an objection against Mystery 
that was likely to prove fatal. 

Mystery was as nearly favorite as possible, and 
this touched the crowd in their most tender part, 
viz., their pockets. The excitement was intense, 
and small groups argued the matter over in their 
own way. 

The upshot was as Ralton had anticipated, that 
the crowd turned against the owner and trainer, be- 
cause they had kept something dark until the last 
moment. What that something was they did not 
know, but it must have been facts of which both 
owner and trainer were cognizant. 

All this time the stewards were considering the 
matter, and said there was no reason why Mystery 
should not run, as Mr. Andrews declared he had 
given the horse to Tom Wilde. 


AN OBJEC TION TO MYS TER Y. 217 

Hugh Ralton saw now that George Andrews had 
played back on him, as he called it. 

Now was the time to play the trump card. 

This horse, Mystery, I can prove was stolen,'’ he 
said; can also prove that Jos Kelly knew what 
the mare Abduction was when he bought her. I 
can prove he bought her from Arthur Newman, now 
on Bullerana Station. I can produce as a witness 
the very man who stole the mare and sold her to 
Arthur Newman. He can tell you that the owners 
of Mystery have been cognizant all along of the 
breeding of the colt.” 

It’s a lie,” shouted Tom Wilde. 

Be silent, please, Mr. Wilde,” said the chairman ; 
this is a very serious charge, Mr. Ralton ; very seri- 
ous indeed. I can hardly believe it credible. You 
say you have the man present who stole the mare 
from Mr. Andrews. Surely he would not venture 
here.” 

He is here, and I will go and fetch him,” said 
Ralton. 

Very well. There is no time to waste,” said 
the chairman.' 

Away went Ralton, followed by an angry crowd, 
who had discovered he was the cause of these curb 
ous proceedings. 

He found Dick Murton, and quickly explained to 
him the situation. 

There’s no help for it, you must go and give 
your evidence,” said Ralton. 

Tom Wilde, the stewards even, and in fact, all in 
the room where the inquiry was being held, became 


2i8 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


SO excited over the production of the man who stole 
Abduction, that they had followed Ralton into the 
paddock. Their disbelief in Hugh Ralton’s state- 
ment that he could produce a witness who would 
give evidence to incriminate himself in this open 
manner was only natural. 

They found Hugh Ralton talking to a strange- 
looking man. 

He was evidently excited. 

I tell you it is necessary you should go and give 
evidence before the stewards,” said Ralton. 

The crowd were eager, breathlessly awaiting the 
strange man’s reply. That reply staggered Ralton, 
for Murton said, 

Then I must decline.” 

‘‘You mean to say you will not go and speak the 
truth ? ” said Ralton. 

“ I mean I will not go and tell lies for you or any 
other man,” was the reply. 

“ Bravo ! ” shouted the crowd. 

This was becoming interesting, and Tom Wilde, 
his friends, and the stewards all pressed round, eager 
to hear the result. 

“ I said I’d give you a tip when I came to the 
course to-day, Hugh Ralton,” went on the man; 
“ I’ll give it you now. Here, I’ll give it the lot of 
you.” 

“ Shut up, you fool,” hissed Ralton “you’ll ruin 
everything.” 

“ Bravo ! Hurrah ! ” yelled the crowd. 

“ Here’s my tip, Mr. Ralton. Mystery will 'win 
the Cup,” said the man. 


AN OBJECTION TO MYSTERY. 219 

Another yell from the excited people. 

Tom Wilde stared in undisguised amazement at 
the man. 

Hugh Ralton turned round and faced the group 
in which the stewards stood. 

I will not be balked by this man. His name is 
Richard Murton, and he stole Abduction, the dam 
of Mystery, from Bullerana Station. I suppose you 
will deny next, that you are Richard Murton,” said 
Ralton, facing him again. 

Yes, I deny that I am Richard Murton,” was the, 
to Hugh Ralton, astonishing reply. 

You hear, gentlemen. He must be mad to deny 
his own identity. If you are not Richard Murton, 
who the devil are you ? ” said Ralton sneeringly. 

Detective Shanklin,” said the supposed Dick 
Murton, as he slipped off his false wig, beard and 
slouch hat, and presented to the gaze of the aston- 
ished crowd, the well-known features of the clever 
police officer they knew so well. 


220 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE HOBART CUP. 

It was some moments before the actors and spec- 
tators of this exciting denouement could realize what 
had happened. When it dawned upon the crowd 
that some underhand work had been going on to 
prevent Mystery from starting, and that Detective 
Shanklin had frustrated the plot, they howled at 
Ralton and cheered Shanklin. 

“You had better come with me into the stand,'* 
said Shanklin to Ralton, “or the people may make 
matters very unpleasant for you." 

The detective was right. A sea of angry, excited 
people was raging round Hugh Ralton, who stood 
stunned and dazed with the shock he had expe- 
rienced. 

He saw how he had been trapped, and cursed his 
stupidity for not making sure of the false Dick Mur- 
ton's identity. 

He heeded not the angry menaces of the crowd. 

The defeat and humiliation he had sustained in 
the presence of the men he hated overpowered every 
other feeling. He had no fear, in fact he cared not 
what the people might do. When he heard Shanklin 
speak it recalled him to his senses. 


THE HOBART CUP. 


221 


It was Dick^ Murton’s voice he heard, and he 
started. It reminded him how cleverly he had been 
duped. 

He gave an angry look round, and his eyes met 
Tom Wilde’s. 

There was no look of triumph in Tom’s face. He 
seemed to pity the man who had been so publicly 
humbled. 

This stung Ralton to the quick. To be pitied by 
this man. Had he not schemed and plotted to ruin 
him, and now his intended victim could afford to 
pity him. 

He could bear it no longer. He must get away 
from the crowd ; but he was determined he would 
seethe race. He would know whether his cup of 
defeat was to overflow by seeing Mystery win ; so 
he turned to Shanklin and said : Go on. I will 
come with you.” 

The detective pushed aside the people and took 
Ralton into the stand. 

A very clever trick you' have played me,” said 
Ralton ; what object you have had in doing it I 
fail to see. Men in your position generally want to 
make a good deal out of such a job.” 

In this case, Mr. Ralton, you are mistaken. My 
reasons for doing what I have I will explain to Mr. 
Wilde, if he so desires. I can assure you entirely 
private reasons prompted me to act as I have done. 
Pure selfishness,” said Shanklin. 

How did you know I should not find the real 
Richard Murton?” said Ralton. 

“ That’s my business,” said Shanklin ; but I 


222 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


knew for one good reason you would never find him, 
or he you.” 

And pray, may I ask what you have done with 
the £y:> I gave you,” said Ralton. 

Certainly. I put it on Mystery on the totaliza- 
tor,” said Shanklin, dryly. 

Hugh Ralton bit his lip to conceal his vexation. 
Here was a man who had received ^^30 from him 
actually putting it on Tom Wilde’s horse. 

And the other score ? ” said Ralton. 

Oh, that paid my expenses to Sydney to see you 
at the lawyer’s office,” said Shanklin. “ I am noth- 
ing out of pocket over this affair, and it has not cost 
the department a penny. It was purely my own 
private business.” 

You will have to hand back that ^50, anyway,” 
said Ralton ; ‘‘ you obtained it under false pre- 
tences.” 

Detective Shanklin smiled as he said : And how 

did you obtain George Andrews’ signature. Shall I 
ask him ? ” 

Hugh Ralton turned pale. He was trapped again. 
Checkmated at every move of the game. 

“ You see I am quite prepared at all points,” said 
Shanklin. If you will take my advice you will 
leave here as soon as possible, and quit Bullerana 
Station when you have settled up there with Mr. 
Andrews.” 

Settled up what ? ” said Ralton. 

‘‘ Oh nothing. A mere trifle. A few hundreds or 
so. I have, received a letter from Mr. Andrews, 
written by Arthur Newman. He has made an 


THE HOBART CUP. 


223 


important discovery since you left. I have ample 
proofs, you know, that you can imitate Mr. Andrews’ 
signature well.” 

By this time Hugh Ralton saw the game was up, 
and he must throw himself on the mercy of George 
Andrews. To Shanklin he said : 

You are well informed, I see. Have you received 
any instructions from Mr. Andrews?” 

No,” said Shanklin. 

Shall you take any on your own account ? ” asked 
Ralton, anxiously. 

No,” said the detective; I have no desire to 
proceed further, Mr. Ralton. I have won my 
game. As far as I am concerned you need have no 
fear. If you take my advice you will see Mr. An- 
drews at your earliest opportunity. Remain here 
until the races are over, and then go home with your 
party as though nothing had happened.” 

Left to himself, Hugh Ralton recovered his 
equanimity. 

He did not fear George Andrews would be hard 
with him. He knew he would not for his wife’s 
sake. 

It was Shanklin he had feared. The detective’s 
assurance had given immense relief to Ralton. Look- 
ing up, he saw his wife coming towards him. He 
could not avoid her or he would have done so. 

“ I am sorry for you, Hugh,” she said, not unkindly ; 

but I am glad you have not succeeded in your 
project of preventing Mr. Wilde’s horse from run- 
ning. I had no idea you were such a vindictive 
man.” 


224 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Then I am glad you know it now/* said Ralton ; 
I have not forgotten that little scene at The 
Mount.’* 

Nor have I,** said Ada, firmly. You will return 
with us, I suppose, to The Mount.** 

No,** said Ralton. 

I should advise you to do so. It will be better 
for you,** said Ada. 

I know my own business best,** said Ralton ; 
besides, two’s company. I don’t want to interfere 
with your enjoyment.” 

What do you mean?” she asked. 

I mean that any one but a fool must have seejn 
that George Andrews is head over ears in love with 
you, and that you encourage him.” 

You coward,” she said, with a look of contempt 
on her handsome face ; you know there is not one 
word of truth in your vile accusation.” 

She turned away and left him without another 
word, and for once in his life Hugh Ralton just felt 
the least bit ashamed of himself. 

Yes, he knew it was untrue. He knew his wife 
was a woman to be trusted, a woman above suspicion, 

and yet once , well, that was a bitter lesson to 

her, and Hugh Ralton had taught it. 

A stirring scene was going on in the paddock. 
The saddling bell had rung, and the final preparations 
were being done to the Cup candidates. 

Fourteen runners on the board, and much to the 
joy of backers. Mystery’s name among them. 

No doubt about it this time. The horse’s name 
was up, and the start was assured. Jos Kelly and 


THE HOB ATT CUP. 


225 

Tom Wilde were congratulated on all sides, and the 
tide that had for one brief moment turned against 
them had now returned with a rush in their favor. 

How ever did you manage it, Shanklin ? ” said 
Tom, as he met the detective after he had left 
Ralton. 

It's a long story, Mr. Wilde," said Shanklin, 
and not uninteresting. I will tell it you with 
pleasure any time you care to hear it." 

Come up to The Mount and tell it us," said Mr. 
Rath, who came up as Shanklin was speaking. We 
are all interested in it." 

Thank you, I will," said Shanklin. 

“ Mr. Wilde, I am sorry I made an objection to 
your horse on behalf of that fellow Ralton," said 
the trainer Hugh Ralton had induced to object 
to Mystery. If I had known there was any under- 
hand business I would never have done it." 

I believe you," said Tom. However, now all 
has ended satisfactorily we need say no more about 
it." 

Jos Kelly had insisted on putting their own jockey, 
Tim Swift, up on Mystery, and Tom again gave 
way. 

Tim Swift was not a fashionable rider, and he sel- 
dom got a mount outside the stable, but he was 
thoroughly honest, a good horseman, and knew the 
colt he had to ride. 

“ Feel confident, Tim ? " said an acquaintance. 

‘‘Never so cocksure about anything in my life. 
Lor’ bless yer, if he runs up to his trial he’ll walk in. 
I’ve put every penny I had on him, and I borrowed 

15 


226 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


more than three months’ screw into the bargain. 
Win ? Bless yer, he can’t lose.” 

No half-hearted confidence in Mystery’s jockey, at 
all events. 

How the money went on to the totalizator, and 
the bookmakers were doing a fair trade. 

Mystery was almost as good a favorite as Wolf’s 
Craig, owned by Mr. Agnew, the most popular 
breeder of horses in Tasmania. Wolf’s Craig was 
by The Assyrian, and the general opinion was that 
he would give Mystery a hard fight for it. Three 
Star, Harefield, Pauline, Tomato, Castanet, Redwing, 
and one or two more were all backed. 

Heavy money went on Wolf’s Craig, but the ma- 
jority of the small backers were on Mystery. 

“I think we shall win,” said Tom Wilde to his 
father, who came to look at Jos Kelly putting on the 
finishing touches. “ Looks well, does he not? ” 

“A real beauty,” said John Wilde. ‘‘What do 
you think about it, Kelly ? ” 

“ Cannot lose if we have a good run,” said Kelly. 

“ What about Wolf’s Craig?” asked John Wilde. 

“ He’s a good horse, but we shall beat him,” said 
Kelly. 

“ Here, Tim,” said John Wilde, as the jockey 
came up in the crimson jacket and white sleeves 
which Tom had taken for his colors, “ what, have 
you to say about it ? ” 

“ Sure to win, Mr. Wilde,” said Tim. 

“ Then I’ll put you a fiver on the tote,” said John 
Wild^. 

Thank you, sir,” said Tim. 


THE HOBART CUP. 


227 


The bell rang for go to the post/' 

Tim Swift was quickly in the saddle, and Mystery 
lashed out at the crowd that had surrounded him. 

Fresh enough," said Detective Shanklin. 

I hope I shall pull off the stake I have backed 
him for. Ralton's money, too, that's the fun of it. 
Won’t it rile him if the colt wins. He's an out-and- 
out bad lot. Well, it’s no business of mine, but, by 
gad, he does not deserve a wife like the one he's got. 
Pity he does not peg out ; it would give her a better 
chance. I fancy old George Andrews is head over 
ears in love with her." 

Tickets were being taken on Mystery almost as 
fast as they could be issued, and the colt was favorite 
on the machine, although Wolf’s Craig kept in front 
of him with the bookmakers. 

On the stand were the party from The Mount, and 
Tom and his father having seen Mystery put to 
rights, joined them. 

Agnes Murray was the most anxious, and she was 
evidently excited over the result. 

As Tom looked at her he thought : How beauti- 
ful she is ! She loves me, I am sure. I can tell by 
the way she looks at Mystery, even if I did not know 
it before. And I love her too. I loved her on board 
the Darling Downs, although I never knew it. I 
shall always bless the day I first saw her. It was 
worth coming out here for. Hugh Ralton did me 
a good turn even over our leaving Hawthorn Farm." 

Mystery dashed past the stand at a great pace in 
his preliminary canter, and it took Tim Swift all his 
time to hold him. He carried seven stone and Tim 


228 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


could ride that weight comfortably. He had 
not been forced to waste and lose strength, and he 
wanted all he possessed to ride such a colt. 

Wolfs Craig went past with a free-and-easy move- 
ment of a horse that has run many a good race, and 
knew what was required of him. He did not mean 
to pump himself out before the race. 

A cry from the crowd made Tom’s heart almost 
stop beating. 

‘‘ Mystery’s bolted.” 

He looked and saw that Tim Swift had not yet 
succeeded in pulling the colt up. 

This was most unfortunate, and would go greatly 
against him in the race. 

Mystery went fully half a mile before Tim got him 
under control, and then the colt was restive. 

Won’t hurt the beggar,” muttered Jos Kelly to 
himself, but then he knew more about Mystery than 
any one. 

“ That will take it out of the brute,” said Ralton, 
who was closely watching the scene from the stand. 

I wish they would get away,” said John Wilde. 

The delay at the post will not help Mystery. How 
fractious he is ! ” 

‘‘Always was,” said Tom, “but good-tempered 
with it all. He’s worse than ever I have seen him 
to-day. It’s his first race, that perhaps has a good 
deal to do with it.” 

“They’re off.” 

Not yet. A false start again. 

Another shout. No mistake this time. The flag 
was lowered, and the field away. Another shout, 


THE HOBART CUP, 


229 


Mystery's left at the post." Sure enough there 
was the crimson and white jacket at the post with 
the rest of the field all well away together. 

A moment later and Mystery started in pursuit at 
a terrific rate. 


230 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A STRANGE FATALITY. 

Tom Wilde’s heart was in his mouth, to use a 
common expression, when he saw Mystery had been 
badly left. 

Hugh Ralton’s face beamed with delight as he 
saw what a start the field had got from the colt. 

It will take it all out of him to make up that 
lost ground,” said Ralton to himself ; he’ll be 
beaten when they have gone a mile. Older horses 
would never make up that ground, let alone a three- 
year-old.” 

<< D that fool of a starter,” was all Jos Kelly 

could find time to say ; I wish I had him here for 
five minutes, he’d never leave another horse of mine 
at the post.” 

The race was now fairly commenced. Three Star 
had taken up the running from Harefield and Music, 
with Wolf’s Craig lying next, and Mystery many 
lengths in the rear. 

As they went past the stand at a great pace the 
order was much the same, but Mystery was slowly 
gaining ground, and the crowd gave a cheer to 
encourage Tim Swift, who, to do him justice, was 


A STRAA^GE FA TALITV. 


231 

straining every nerve to keep the colt well together, 
and yet to gain ground without forcing him. 

“ The little beggar rides well, Larry,” said Kelly 
to his head lad, who was standing beside him. 

That does he,” said Larry ; “ it was not his fault 
he did not get well away, and bedad it won’t be his 
fault if he doesn’t win.” 

Down the dip Three Star gave way to Harefield, 
with Wolf’s Craig making his way into the front 
rank, and Mystery had caught up to Old Tom, who 
was in the rear. 

Away they raced past the homestead, a conspic- 
uous spot on the course, and the excitement was 
gradually becoming keener. Along the river-side 
the favorite ran into second place, and even money 
was offered on his chance. Three Star had shot his 
bolt and dropped back, but Harefield and Music, 
with Tomato close up, were all going well. 

At the half-mile post the favorite got in front, and 
loud shouts proclaimed his victory. 

This was a critical point in the race, and Tim 
Swift knew it. 

It was now or never with Mystery if he meant to 
get up in time. 

Tim brought the colt clear on the outside, and 
sitting down on him, commenced to gain ground 
fast. 

“ Look, father,” shouted Tom Wilde, excitedly, 
‘‘he’s passing them hand over fist. Well done, Tim. 
That was a clever move.” 

“Drat the lad,” muttered Jos Kelly, “he’s mak- 
ing his run too soon. We’re beat for a certainty.” 


232 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


“ No fear,” said Larry ; if Tim had not got 
round them there we should have had a poor 
chance.” 

Mystery swept past the fast-tiring horses like a 
whirlwind, and the crimson and white jacket seemed 
to fly through the air. There could be no doubt 
about the pace at which Mystery was going, it was 
terrific. There was no other word for it. 

The crowd were struck dumb with amazement to 
see the phenomenal run the three-year-old was put- 
ting in. 

Would it last? That was the all-important ques- 
tion. Would this great effort tell on the colt and 
leave him dead beaten before the post was reached ? 
Old hands fancied such would be the case, and 
sighed as they thought of the money they had in- 
vested on Mystery’s chance. 

Detective Shanklin congratulated himself that the 
notes he had invested were Hugh Ralton’s, and not 
out of his own pocket. 

“ It’s too much to expect him to last out at that 
pace,” said John Wilde; ‘‘I never saw the young 
'un that could do it.” 

The excitement now was something tremendous. 
The pent-up feelings of the crowd found vent, and 
cheer after cheer proclaimed the victory of Wolf’s 
Craig and Mr. Agnew’s popular colors. 

Tim Swift, having passed the bulk of the field, 
was now in third position, with Mystery on the rails. 
Wolfs Craig and Harefield being in front of him. 

He’ll get blocked, sure as fate,” said Kelly, 
‘‘even if he has another run left in him.” 


A STRANGE FA TALITY. 233 

But Tim Swift knew what he was about. His 
quick eyes had seen that the rider of Wolf’s Craig 
was intent upon watching Harefield, who was on the 
outside, and never gave a thought to Mystery, who 
he concluded must have long since been beaten off. 

If I can steal up on the inside,” thought Tim, 
I’ll be down on him before he can close in on me, 
and then we’ll see who’s master.” 

The distance was reached, and still the cries were 
heard, The favorite wins ! ” Harefield wins fora 
pony ! ” 

Then there was an almost sudden silence. One 
of those curious silences sometimes felt in a vast 
crowd at the finish of a race when the unexpected 
is about to happen. 

This hush in the crowd was only for a brief 
moment, and then came a roar that made Tom 
Wilde’s heart thump almost painfully, and caused his 
hand to shake. It made old John Wilde take off 
his hat and shout in stentorian tones as he had done 
on many a Hunt Club day in the old land, 

'‘Tom wins! Tom wins! Bravo, Mystery !” and 
in his intense excitement he flung up his hat, regard- 
less of consequences. 

" Mystery wins ! Mystery wins ! ” 

The jockey on Wolf’s Craig heard it as he felt 
secure of victory, and could hardly believe his ears. 

He had put down Mystery as a beaten horse long 
ago. 

He knew the colt had been left at the post, and 
had seen nothing of him in the race, so he failed to 
comprehend the meaning of the shout — 


234 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Mystery wins/* 

Then as he glanced to his left he saw a horse’s 
head level with Wolf’s Craig’s flank. 

Then the head drew nearer and nearer to him, and 
in a moment was level with him. 

He saw the blood-red nostrils wide open, he heard 
the gasp of the horse as he strained every nerve to 
win. 

He heard the sound of a whip, and he heard Tim’s 
breathing as he drew up alongside him. 

Then he knew what that shout of Mystery wins ” 
meant. 

He saw the crimson and white jacket level with 
him, and he sat down and drove the spurs home. 

Wolf’s Craig answered gamely enough to the call, 
but the weight commenced to tell. On. one side was 
Harefield pressing him hard, and on the other side 
Mystery pressing him still harder. 

It was a desperate tight place to be in between 
such a pair. 

Still, the rider of Wolf’s Craig did not despair. 
He knew what a good horse he had under him. 
Very few horses could beat the favorite over a mile 
and a half, his pet distance. 

How the crowd shouted ! It was a terrific battle. 
Three horses stride’ for stride, nose level with nose, 
and only a hundred yards to the judge’s box. 

Tim Swift felt Mystery was going to fail, but he 
thought with one great effort he might just get him 
in front at the last pinch. 

Only a hundred yards. Not much of a distance, 
but what a struggle there was over it, and how much 


A SmANGE FA TALITY, 


235 


depended upon it. Fifty yards, and still the three 
were in a dead level. It was neck and neck, and no 
mistake. In such a battle Mystery must surely get 
the worst of it after making up all that lost ground. 

Had it been a race for life the jockeys could not 
have been more in earnest. 

Whips were out, and each man was riding his 
best. 

At last there was a break in the line. Harefield 
got his head in front of Wolfs Craig. In another 
moment Mystery had got his head past the favorite, 
and the pair of heads were just in front of him on 
either side. 

ril win now,” thought Tim. 

He made one more effort. He gave Mystery a 
dig with the spurs, at the same time lifting him well 
forward with all the remaining strength he had in 
his body. It was a last effort, a final struggle on 
the part of both rider and horse, and as they flashed 
past the judge's box Tim could not tell whether he 
had won or not. 

“ What's won ? '' was the question eagerly asked 
as the crowd awaited the hoisting of the numbers. 
Some shouted one name, some another. 

At last the judge placed them, and gave Mystery 
a win by half a head, with Wolf’s Craig a head 
behind Harefield. So it was over at last, and 
Mystery had won the Hobart Cup. 

It was a gallant victory, won under unfavorable 
circumstances, and proved that had Mystery got a 
good start the result would never have been in 
doubt. 


236 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


Horse and rider were cheered as they came to 
weigh in, and when the flag went up denoting all 
right,” the cheering was renewed. 

Tom Wilde was delighted. He could have danced 
for joy. Tom had not lost his youthful spirits, and 
they bubbled over in unrestrained enjoyment. He 
dashed down the stand steps, and went to Mystery's 
head. He shook hands with Jos Kelly until the 
trainer commenced to fancy he had taken leave of 
his senses ; in fact Tom shook hands with every one 
near him. 

He’s a wonder, is he not, Kelly?” said Tom. 

Of course he is. Didn’t I always tell you he 
was?” said the trainer, quietly. If it had not been 
for that fool of a starter the colt would have won 
easily.” 

A crowd gathered round Mystery to watch him 
being rubbed down after his race. Tim Swift stood 
looking on, and received the numerous congratula- 
tions showered upon him with an impassive face. 

I never rode such a colt as that before,” he said 
to Tom Wilde. ‘‘ He was badly left at the post. 
It was not the starter’s fault, and it was not my 
fault. The truth is. Mystery is in a devil of a 
temper to-day. The devil isn’t out of him yet. 
If it had been he would never have finished as he 
did. There, look at him now.” 

Mystery lashed out viciously, and the crowd 
scattered in all directions. 

“ Wonder why he is in a temper to-day?” said 
Tom. 

‘‘ Blest if I know, sir,” said Tim. I never saw 


A STRANGE FA TALlTY, 


237 

him as bad as that before. It must be the crowd. 
He don’t like crowds.” 

Hugh Ralton’s discomfiture was complete with 
the victory of Mystery, and he felt Tom Wilde had 
indeed got the better of him on all points, and with 
no exertion on his side. He left the stand, and 
moodily walked across the paddock. No one seemed 
to notice him. The incident before the race ap- 
peared to have been almost forgotten. 

Ralton thought it would be better for him to re- 
turn to town before the races were over. He would 
go back to The Mount before the Raths returned, 
write a note to his wife, and tell her what he in- 
tended to do. He meant to send in his resignation 
to George Andrews, leaving him to deal with it as 
he thought fit. He knew well enough that Andrews 
would take no action against him in the matter 
alluded to by Shanklin. 

Hugh Ralton’s thoughts were not pleasant. To 
the man who is constantly plotting and scheming to 
injure his fellows there must come a day of reckon- 
ing sooner or later. His h^d come now. He saw 
at last how wasted his life had been ; what oppor- 
tunities he had lost, what chances thrown away. 

With his head bent down he walked on, and did 
not see or heed where he was going. For a brief 
moment Hugh Ralton seemed to have lost all con- 
sciousness as to where he was and what he was 
doing. This strange oblivion in the midst of so 
much bustle and excitement comes over a man 
curiously unaccountably, and yet that it does come 
cannot be denied. 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


238 

Ralton’s past life seemed to flash before his eyes 
with lurid distinctness, to the obliteration of every- 
thing else. 

Jos Kelly had ordered Larry to take Mystery 
home, as the colt was so fractious, and he was lead- 
ing him quietly towards the gate. 

“ Take care. Mind where you are going. That 
colt’s a brute to kick,” were the warning words that 
rang in Hugh Ralton’s ears. He looked up and 
saw he was close upon the heels of Mystery. 

Strange to say, at that moment, as though he 
knew an enemy was near. Mystery gave a lunge at 
the bridle and threw up his head. Larry, not being 
in the best of humor at having to leave the course be- 
fore the last race, gave vent to his feeling in a good 
round oath and a savage tug at the bridle. This 
caused Mystery to pull back, and as he did so he 
touched Hugh Ralton, who stopped close behind 
him. The touch startled Mystery, and quick as 
lightning he lowered his head and lashed out 
viciously behind with both legs. There was a 
dull thud, a groan, and then a heavy fall, and 
Hugh Ralton lay on his back on the grass as still 
as death. 


HE WHO DIES PA YS ALL DEBTS. 


239 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

HE WHO DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS. 

The full force of Mystery's terrific kick fell upon 
Hugh Ralton’s chest and crushed the bones and 
mangled the flesh in a manner dreadful to look 
upon. The accident happened so suddenly that 
Larry hardly knew what had occurred before a 
crowd collected around the fallen man. 

Tom Wilde, coming up at the time, saw it was 
Ralton lying on the grass looking pale as death, and 
in a dead faint. 

‘‘ Stand back,” he cried, as he forced his way 
through the crowd. Someone find a doctor. I 
know this man.” 

I should think you did, governor,” said one of 
the bystanders. You've no cause to pity him.” 

He is in danger,” said Tom. He may be dead 
for all I know. This is no time to think of his past 
misdeeds.” 

Well spoken, lad,” said another man. You're 
a good sort, you are. Your father ought to be 
proud of you.” 

A doctor was found, and when he examined 
Ralton, who was still unconscious and breathing 
heavily, he looked grave and shook his head. 

‘‘It’s a bad case, Mr. Wilde,” he said. You had 


240 ONLY A COMMONER, 

better have him removed at once. I am afraid he 
has not long to live.’' 

Surely not so bad as that, doctor? ” said Tom. 

‘‘Yes,” was the reply. “ Remove him at once.” 

The ambulance wagon was procured, and in it 
Ralton was placed. 

Tom ordered the driver to take him to The 
Mount, and the vehicle moved slowly away, the 
doctor taking his seat beside the driver. 

Tom thought it better not to inform Mrs. Ralton 
of what had taken place, but the others said it 
would be all for the best to let her know at once. 

George Andrews agreed to tell her, and he did so 
in his usual kind-hearted, fatherly way. 

Ada Ralton was naturally niuch affected at the 
news, and as she was so desirous of returning to The 
Mount at once, the others decided to go with her. 

On reaching The Mount Ada at once went to her 
husband’s room. 

He was lying on the bed with the doctor close by, 
and looking very changed. Ada was shocked at his 
appearance. The last time she had seen him they 
had parted with bitter words. True, he had insulted 
her, but she forgot that as she saw him lying on 
the bed looking more dead than alive. 

Ralton recognized her, and a faint smile, half 
sneer, passed over his face. 

“ Oh, Hugh, I am so sorry,” was all she could say, 
as she bent over him. 

“ Are you really sorry ? ” he asked. 

“ Can you doubt it ? ” she replied. 

“ Yes,” he gasped. “ You have no occasion to be 


HE WHO DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS. 241 

sorry. You ought to be glad. I shall die, and you 
will be well rid of me. Don’t say no, because it’s 
true. I’m done for, and serves me right.” 

Ada looked at the doctor. She saw no denial of 
Ralton’s words in his face. 

Ask him,” said Ralton, who could only speak 
with difficulty, and he pointed to the doctor. 

It is no good holding out false hopes, Mrs. Ral- 
ton,” said the doctor, quietly. Your husband is so 
seriously injured that it is impossible for him to re- 
cover. His chest is completely shattered by the 
blow. It must have been a tremendous kick. The 
horse’s hoofs struck him flat on the chest.” 

Poor Hugh! ” said Ada. 

‘‘ Don’t pity me,” said Ralton, pettishly. I won’t 
be pitied. I have been a bad lot, Ada, but at the 
bottom I believe I loved you better than any one 
except myself. I always was a selfish beggar. 
You’re young, Ada, and have a long life before you. 
We should never have lived happily together after 
what I said to you to-day.” 

We will not speak of that, Hugh,” she said. 

But I will speak of it,” he said, gasping pain- 
fully. meant what I said at the time, Ada. 
Can you forgive me for it now ? ” 

“ Yes, Hugh. I will not deny I have a good deal 
to forgive, but I do forgive you freely;” and she 
bent over and kissed his forehead. 

You are very good, Ada,” he said. ‘‘ I do not 
deserve it. I have wronged you in every way a 
man could. I am sorry for it now, Ada. I am 
sorry for a heap of things I have done in my time. 

16 


242 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


I feel I could be actually sorry because I drove the 
Wildes out of the old farm/' 

‘‘You must not talk so much, please, Mr. Ralton," 
said the doctor, “ it will increase the pain, and make 
you worse." 

“ No matter," said Ralton. “ I cannot live, and I 
must ease my mind before I go. Ada, I should like 
to see Tom Wilde." 

His wife left the room, and in a few moments 
Tom Wilde came in. 

He looked at Ralton, and as he saw the strong 
man stricken down so suddenly, he was shocked and 
distressed. 

There was no anger in his heart against Hugh 
Ralton, only pity and sorrow for his condition. 

“ I hardly thought you would come," said Ralton. 

“ I am only too pleased to come if it will be of 
any assistance or relief to you," said Tom. 

“ No assistance," said Ralton. “ Fm past that. 
But you can give me relief, Tom Wilde, relief to my 
feelings." 

“ In what way ? " said Tom. 

“ I have caused a lot of trouble to fall on your 
father and yourself," said Ralton. “ I tried my level 
best to ruin your character over that race. Your 
horse has fought your battle well, Tom Wilde. He 
has won a race for you, and killed me. I have done 
all in my power to injure you. What I want to 
know is, can you forgive me. I shall die easier if 
you can, because if you can forgive such villainy as 
mine has been towards you, I can hope to be for- 
given in the next world." 


HE WHO DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS, 


243 


Tom Wilde took Ralton’s hand, and said : 

I refused to take your hand once, Hugh Ralton, 
but I do so no longer. A fault confessed is half 
atoned, and you have acknowledged your faults. I 
forgive you freely whatever injury you may have 
done, or have tried to do me, and I am sure my 
father will follow my example. I am sorry, very 
sorry, such an accident should have happened 
through my horse.” 

It was a just judgment on me,” said Ralton. 

It was a strange fatality,” said Tom. 

Very strange,” said the doctor, who knew most 
of the circumstances connected with Mystery. 

That detective is a clever fellow,” said Ralton ; 
I should like to leave him my gold watch and 
chain. Will you see that he gets it ? ” 

Yes,” said Tom, I will do anything you may 
desire.” 

Bend down,” said Ralton. 

Tom bent over him. 

I do not want Ada to hear,” he said, in a hoarse 
whisper. When I am gone tell George Andrews 
to take care of Ada. He will know what I mean.” 

\ will,” said Tom; ^'but why not tell him 
yourself? ” 

He will never forgive me for what I have done,” 
said Ralton. “ I did not take more than five or six 
hundred pounds, and he will not miss that.^* 

Tom looked at Ralton in surprise. 

It's true,” said Ralton. I forged his name. 
That fellow Shankhn could prove it. He has a good 
example of how I could imitate Andrews' signature.” 


244 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


What a bad lot he has been/' thought Tom ; 
but it is not for me to judge him." 

Ralton lingered through the night. He saw both 
John Wilde and George Andrews, and they were 
grieved to see him in such a deplorable plight. 

William Rath also saw him, and forgot Ralton's 
past life in his present dire necessity. 

Hugh Ralton was dying and he knew it. He was 
not afraid, and yet he had an unaccountable dread 
of something unknown, something he had yet to 
fathom. He had been a bad man, but consoled him- 
self by thinking there had been many worse. 

He wished he could live and lead a better life. 
At the same time he doubted himself, and half 
believed if he could regain his strength he would still 
continue on the downward path. Better to die now 
than sink deeper in sin. 

Ada watched by his bedside all night. 

The doctor was called away, but said he would 
return at an early hour in the morning. 

He did return, and found Ada Ralton crying. 

He knew what had happened. A glance at the 
silent, motionless figure on the bed at once told him 
all. 

Hugh Ralton was dead, and in dying he had paid 
his debts, and some of them were heavy. 

There could be no genuine grief for such a man as 
Hugh Ralton. Until he was dead those around 
him might be sorry to see him in such a sore plight. 

Once dead, however, such a man is easily for- 
gotten. 

There was not a soul in the house at The Mount 


HE WHO DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS. 245 

Hugh Ralton had ever done a kind action for. On 
the contrary, all had more or less suffered at his 
hands. He had played the traitor to his host, and 
had acted as tempter to his host’s wife. 

He had robbed his master, and bitterly wronged 
his own wife. He had done all in his power to 
injure the Wildes, and he had endeavored to blast 
Tom Wilde’s character to Agnes Murray. 

Hugh Ralton was not long in his grave before he 
was almost forgotten. 

This is too often the case with good men, and 
therefore it is not surprising such a man was as 
though he had never lived to those left behind. 

Ada Ralton naturally felt shocked at his sudden 
death. She was his wife, and therefore the mere 
fact of such a tie being severed by death was enough 
to affect her for a time. 

George Andrews at once sent a cablegram to 
Arthur Newman, informing him of Ralton’s death, 
and appointing him manager of Bullerana Station. 

‘‘ I think we are fated not to see Arthur Newman,” 
said Tom to George Andrews. '‘It was mainly 
through him we fixed on Tasmania as our home, and 
we have not come across him since we have been 
here.” 

" When I return,” said Andrews, " he shall have 
leave of absence for as long as he likes, and then he 
can pay you a visit. The young dog. I fancy he 
knew more about the mare than he ever told me.” 

" If he did,” said Tom with a laugh, "he kept it 
dark for my sake.” 

" Very likely,” said George Andrews ; " and as it 


246 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


did no one any harm, we will say no more about 
it.’’ 

Ralton, before he died, wished me to give you a 
message. He said he would not deliver it himself, 
but that you would understand it,” said Tom. 

What could he have to say to me ? ” said'^ 
Andrews. 

He said : ‘ Tell George Andrews to take care of 
Ada. He will know what I mean,’ ” said Tom. 

George Andrews looked confused. He fancied 
no one had divined his love for Ada, and he knew 
by Ralton’s message that he must have been cogni- 
zant of it. 

‘‘ I will do all he requested,” said George Andrews ; 

Ada Ralton shall have all she desires. I will speak 
to her on the subject.” 

He did speak to Ada. What he said need not be 
mentioned here. The result, however, was that Ada 
Ralton returned to Bullerana with George Andrews 
and his daughter, and took the position of mistress 
of the household. 

She had no scruples in doing so. She was a 
woman thoroughly self-reliant, and she had her old 
maid Susan Holmes still with her. 

Arthur Newman was grateful to Mr. Andrews 
for appointing him manager of Bullerana Station, 
and still more grateful when he found he could at 
last visit the Wildes’. He arrived in Hobart about 
a month after Ralton’s death, and received a hearty 
welcome at Rydal Farm. 

It should be mentioned that Detective Shanklin 
had told his story at The Mount before George 


HE WHO DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS. 


247 


Andrews left. It was an interesting story, and ex- 
plained how he came to undertake the checkmating 
of Hugh Ralton. 

This story will be better dealt with in a separate 
chapter. 


248 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE detective’s STORY. 

True to his promise, Detective Shankliii came to 
The Mount and told his story to those most inter- 
ested in it. Without any preamble he launched 
upon his theme at once. 

It commenced this way,” he said. ‘‘ It was no 
part of my business as a detective to solve this mys- 
tery connected with Dick Murton and the mare. 

There was and is a woman at the bottom of it, 
as there is in most cases. That woman is Mary 
Murton, better known to me as Polly Fenton. She 
was an old acquaintance of mine before she picked 
up with this Dick Murton.” 

Then there is such a person as Dick Murton after 
all ” said Tom. 

‘‘Yes, and a pity it is he ever was born. 

“ Polly Fenton as I prefer to call her, was, I con- 
fess, a girl I particularly liked, and it cut me up a 
bit when she disappeared. One night I met her 
again in Hobart, very down in the world. She told 
me her story. Told me how Dick Murton had 
fascinated her with his talk, and she thought he was 
a man of means. She also told me about his selling 
a mare here, and from the peculiar circumstances I 


THE DETECTIVES STORY. 


249 

concluded it might have something to do with the 
dam of Mystery. 

“ I asked Polly if she would recognize the mare 
again, and she said ‘ Yes, she could never forget that 
mare which was, as it were, part and parcel of her 
misfortunes, for it was on the proceeds of the sale 
of the mare that Dick Murton was able to keep up 
his position for a short time. 

When I knew she could recognize the mare,” 
said Shanklin with a roguish look at Tom Wilde, 
‘‘ I hit upon a plan to get a clue. 

Mr. Wilde,” said Shanklin, nodding at Tom, 
will recollect a certain night when the mare was 
let out of her box and he saw a man and a woman 
eagerly scanning her. He will also remember meet- 
ing me in a trap as he went in pursuit of the couple 
he had seen at Rydal Farm. 

I put Mr. Wilde off the scent by telling him I 
had juzt come along the road he was traversing, and 
had seen no one, and he returned home satisfied he 
must have made some mistake. It was myself and 
Polly Fenton Mr. Wilde saw looking at the mare, 
and I let her out of her box.” 

^Wou ? ” exclaimed Tom in surprise. ‘‘What on 
earth for? ” 

“ I wanted Polly to see if she could recognize the 
mare, and the result was that she identified her at 
once as the mare Dick Murton had shown her. She 
said she could not possibly be mistaken, that she 
would have recognized her anywhere. 

“We saw Tom Wilde coming, and at once made 
the best of our way to the trap I had left standing 


250 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


in the lane close by. We were soon going down the 
road at top speed, and fancied ourselves free from 
pursuit. 

We had not gone very far before I fancied I 
heard a horse galloping behind us, and as the sounds 
drew nearer, I knew Tom was in pursuit. For rea- 
sons of my own I did not want you, Tom, to know 
who had been at the Farm, so I blinded you — threw 
you off the scent. 

I told Polly to get out of the trap and hide un- 
der the bridge until I came back. 

When she was safely concealed I quickly turned 
the horse’s head and drove back again towards New 
Norfolk. 

I was not mistaken, it was Tom Wilde coming 
along the road at a hard gallop. You know what 
happened, Tom ; I satisfied you and you returned 
home.” 

‘‘You took me in splendidly,” said Tom. “A 
clever idea of yours, that.’’ 

“ When an advertisement appeared in the paper 
for Richard Murton, who would find it to his advan- 
tage to call upon Messrs. Romer and Wales, solic- 
itors, Sydney, I thought here was a chance to get 
even with Dick Murton for his treatment of his wife. 
I meant to catch him at the solicitors’ office and to 
bring him to book for horse-stealing, for I felt cer- 
tain he had stolen the mare in question. 

“ I went over to Sydney disguised as you saw me 
on the race-course. 

“ Strange to say, at the very hotel I put up at, a 
favorite resort qf rnen in our line, I heard of Digh 


THE DETECTIVHS STORY. 251 

Murton. A brother detective in Sydney had been 
after him on a serious charge of burglary. 

Dick Murton was apprehended in bed at his 
lodgings, but he was never taken to the police-office. 
He had fallen from the window of a house in mak- 
ing his escape, and had internally injured himself. 
He died in the presence of the detective. That fact 
was useful to me. 

I thought I should like to find out why Dick 
Murton had been advertised for, and who it was that 
had such an interest in him. It seemed curious 
to me that any one should advertise for such a 
man. 

I determined to pass myself off as Dick Murton, 
and to go to the solicitors’ office at the time ap- 
pointed in the advertisement. 

I did so, and there I met Hugh Ralton. He gave 
me full particulars of what he wanted me, the sup- 
posed Dick Murton, to do. 

He wished for some reason or other to be re- 
venged on you, Tom Wilde, and to prove you were 
cognizant of the dam of Mystery having been stolen. 
He paid me some money, which I had no scruples 
in taking, and then I gave him a poser by asking him 
to get George Andrews’ signature to the effect that 
he would not take proceedings against me, and that 
it was with his. sanction this affair was to be done. 
The document was drawn up all right, and sure 
enough he got George Andrews’ signature to it, and 
there it is,” said Shanklin, drawing the paper from 
his pocket and handing it to George Andrews. 

Splendid,” said Andrews ; ^Gf I did not know it 


252 ONLY A COMMONER, 

is a forgery I should have thought it my signature. 
I never saw anything better done.” 

“Yes, it is excellent,” said Shanklin ; “he must 
have been a very clever fellow to do that. 

“ I think the remaining facts are pretty well known 
to you. I returned to Hobart and resumed my 
usual official work. Disguised as Dick Murton I 
again met Ralton before the Cup, when he gave me 
the balance of the money he had promised me. 

“ I put that money on Mystery,” said Shanklin, 
with evident delight. 

“ Glad to hear it,” said Tom; “not bad that to 
win such a stake with Ralton’s money.” 

“ What happened on the race-course you all know. 
Hugh Ralton met with a terrible punishment, and 
we will not speak ill of the dead. I should have had 
no difficulty with this in my possession,” said Shank- 
lin, tapping the paper bearing George Andrews* 
signature, “ in proving any charge you might have 
brought against him for forgery. The imitation of 
your signature is perfect, and of course I had ample 
evidence that he forged it, because he could not have 
obtained it in any other way. 

“ The principal motive, however, I had in this 
affair, was to get even with Richard Murton for his 
treatment of Polly Fenton. 

“ When I found out he was dead that motive was 
gone, but I had still sufficient interest in the affair 
to ascertain why Murton had been advertised for. 

“ I easily summed Ralton up when I met him, and 
put him down as a bad lot. 

“ I have often come in contact with men of his 


THE DETECTIVES STORY. 


2S3 

stamp. They are far more dangerous to society than 
ordinary uneducated criminals. 

It is the cultured, well-educated scoundrel, whose 
outward appearance is gentlemanly, that is most 
dangerous. He can obtain admission into circles 
where he can carry on his schemes with impunity. 
Such men plan to rob the house of their host when 
seated at his hospitable table. These men are often 
guilty of more ruffianly acts than the rough, uncouth 
criminal. 

I can assure you, Mr. Rath, that a detective's 
life is adventurous, and there is no monotony in 
it." 

‘‘ Now that the obstacle is removed, in the shape 
of Murton," said Tom, I presume Mrs. Murton 
will be on the look-out for a better husband ? " 

She need not go far for that," said Shanklin. 

I mean to try and make her forget her past life, if 
she will let me. There is a vast difference between 
Polly Murton and Polly Fenton ; but I hope to 
bring the bloom into her cheeks again before very 
long.” 

I expect there will be more weddings than one 
before long," said Mr. Rath, with a glance at Agnes 
Murray. Tom Wilde looked at Agnes, and smiled. 

She knew well what he meant, and felt the time 
had now come when Tom would openly avow his 
love for her. 

Detective Shanklin’s story explained why he had 
taken so much trouble in the Mystery case. 

When he left The Mount he went to Mary Murton's 
lodgings. He had previously told her of her hus- 


254 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


band's death, and she had not been shocked at the 
news. It was a welcome relief from a bond which 
had proved well-nigh insupportable. 

Polly Murton had rushed headlong into marriage 
without thought, as too many of her class do. 

She would have made a good wife to a husband 
who treated her properly, but she soon discovered 
the worthlessness of Murton’s life. 

Her husband quickly became repugnant to her, 
and as he had no love for her, their life was one of 
endless quarrelling and misery, until Polly could 
stand it no longer, and left him. 

Detective Shanklin received a hearty welcome 
from Polly Murton. 

She was very fond of Shanklin, he had been so 
kind to her, but she hardly expected he would quite 
forgive her for having thrown him over for a man 
like Murton. 

Shanklin, however, laid all the blame at the door 
of Dick Murton, and thought Polly had suffered 
quite enough for her hasty marriage. 

You look quite brisk,” said Shanklin. There 
is a decided change for the better since I met you 
in Hobart, friendless.” 

“ Yes, thanks to you,” said Polly. I am a differ- 
ent woman. God knows what would have become 
of me if you had not taken me in hand, John.” 

She called him by his Christian name. That was 
a good sign, at any rate, he thought. 

I have just been telling them at The Mount how 
I came to take such an interest in Mystery's case,” 
said Shanklin. 


THE DETECTIVE^S STORY. 


255 


They must have been interested in the story/* 
said Polly. 

They were. You know why I took up that 
case, Polly,’* said Shanklin. I wanted to have 
it out with that scoundrel for his treatment of 
you.” 

I know,” said Polly. He deserved to be 
hounded down, for the way he treated me was 
shameful. You do not know half what that man 
did to me.” 

Shanklin clinched his fists. He had an idea he 
would have liked to fight Dick Murton’s ghost if he 
could not get at the man himself. 

“ In the old days, Polly,” he said, in a softened 
voice, ‘‘ we were good friends, and I fancy we shall 
become nearer and dearer to each other than that. 
Had all gone right we might have been very happy 
together long ago. It is not too late now. You 
have suffered, Polly, suffered severely for that ill- 
fated marriage. You are a free woman again. Will 
you risk matrimony a second time, and try me for a 
husband ? ” 

Polly Murton looked at him lovingly. This was 
more than she had dared to hope for. So John 
Shanklin had been true to her ever since he had first 
met her! 

“ It is too much of a sacrifice on your part, John. 
I cannot let you throw yourself away upon me, 
I do not deserve your love. I might have been 
happy with you long ago, as you say. Now I have 
nothing to give you except my love. I am not the 
woman I once was. I have suffered, and it has left 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


256 

its mark upon me. No, John, I will not let you 
throw yourself away upon a worthless woman/’ 

Polly, you are the only woman I shall ever love. 
If you do not marry me you will blight my future 
life. You say you love me. If you do, marry me. 
The past is forgotten by me. I will strive to make 
you forget it. We have many happy years before 
us. Polly, do not hesitate, say you will be my wife.” 

“ If you wish it, John,” she said, ‘‘but I do not 
deserve such love as yours.” 

John Shanklin kissed her fondly. He kissed her 
now with a more earnest affection than when they 
had flirted in her girlhood’s days. 

“ I will try and be a good wife to you, John,” she 
said. “ I owe all the happiness I have had in my life 
to you. I will for your sake strive to blot out the 
past.” 

“ And you will find it easy enough to forget when 
we are married,” said Shanklin. “ I am not going 
to wait long, Polly. I have waited a good many 
years for you already, so the sooner we are married 
the better.” 

“When you please, John,” she said. “I am 
yours, and you can take me when you will.” 

John Shanklin went home thoroughly satisfied 
with himself. 

He was tfred of a lonely bachelor’s life, and Polly 
was the woman he had always desired to make his 
wife. 

Tom Wilde had handed him Hugh Ralton’s 
watch and chain as he had been requested, and as 
Shanklin looked at it, he thought : 


THE DETEC TIVHS STORY, 257 

Poor beggar, he’s paid the penalty of his sins 
with his life. It was a strange thing Mystery should 
give him his death-blow. What a fine woman his 
widow is! I’ll bet she marries George Andrews 
Well, this watch will always remind me of an in- 
teresting episode, and I do not think I shall forget 
Mystery’s Hobart Cup in a hurry.” 

17 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


258 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A DAY AT RYDAL FARM. 

The river Derwent between Hobart and New 
Norfolk wends its way through most beautiful 
scenery. It reminds one in grandeur of the Rhine, 
and a more pleasant excursion could not be wished 
for. 

Tom Wilde had chartered a small steam-launch, 
and a party went to Rydal Farm and then pro- 
ceeded to New Norfolk by the river. 

The Raths and Agnes Murray were, of course, of 
the party, and Arthur Newman, who had been 
heartily welcomed by the Wildes on his arrival in 
Hobart. 

Jos Kelly and Detective Shanklin were also pre- 
vailed upon to join them, although the trainer said 
such jauntings were not much in his line. 

They were a merry party on board the Sprite as 
she steamed away from the quay about nine o’clock 
in the morning, and quickly commenced her run up 
the Derwent. 

They steamed past the Domain, the regatta 
ground, and Government House, along a narrow 
reach of the river, which widens considerably 
further up. 


A DAY AT R YDAL FARM. 259 

As the Sprite worked her way along, Mount 
Direction could be seen in the distance, and the lake 
scenery became very beautiful. 

On the left could be seen Glenorchy, and then a 
glimpse of the race-course, which recalled vividly to 
their mind Mystery’s great battle and the victory in 
the Hobart Cup. 

I wish you had been there, Arthur,” said Tom 
Wilde to Newman. I am sure you would have 
been as excited as any of us.” 

‘‘You bet I should,” said Newman. “I should 
very much have liked to see Mystery win. By Jove, 
Tom, you are a lucky fellow. Fancy winning such a 
race as that the first time of asking.” 

“ Not much luck about it,” growled Jos Kelly. 
“ It is not often we get a horse like that to train. 
He’s a colt in a hundred is Mystery. I reckon you 
knew a bit about his dam, Mr. Newman, when you 
bought her.” 

“ Not I,” said Newman. “ I merely bought her 
for her good looks, I can assure you. No wonder 
she threw such a good one, now we know how she is 
bred.” 

The steamer was now passing through bold mount- 
ainous scenery, and on this particular morning it all 
looked very lovely. 

Bridgewater Causeway was presently reached, 
where the main road and the main railway line from 
Hobart to Launceston cross over. The railway 
bridge was swung round, and the road bridge drawn 
back to allow the Sprite to pass through. 

The skipper commenced to tell yarns of bush- 


26 o 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


rangers, and pointed out where certain notorious 
characters had found hiding-places in the mountains 
close at hand in days gone by. 

After passing Bridgewater the scenery again 
became interesting ; on the one side pastoral land- 
scapes and on the other mountainous land. Large 
flocks of ducks could be seen lazily floating about 
close to the reeds and rushes, and numerous fisher- 
men were casting in their lines from the banks. 

Just before the township was reached, the rocks 
rose up almost perpendicularly on either side of the 
river, and the steamer seemed to be going through a 
vast cutting. 

New Norfolk was reached about noon, and a drag 
waiting handy took the party to Rydal Farm. 

They drove past hop gardens which reminded 
them of Kentish scenery, and by orchards in which 
fruit trees heavily laden were luxuriously growing. 
On every hand was visible ample evidence of the 
fertility of the soil and the wonderful products of 
this favored land. 

“ What a splendid country,'' said Agnes Murray, 
enthusiastically. 

It is, indeed," replied Tom. ^‘You have not 
been here before, Agnes. I hope you will like 
Rydal Farm." 

I am sure I shall," said Agnes. 

John Wilde was waiting at the door to receive 
them, and they had a hearty greeting from him in a 
good old British yeoman's style. 

Luncheon had been prepared and tables laid 
under the huge trees in front of the house, and a 


A DAY AT RYDAL FARM. 


261 


merry party sat down to partake of the good cheer 
and hospitality of Rydal Farm, 

It was a homely, happy scene, and John Wilde, 
as he looked at the bright faces around him, felt he 
was at last recompensed for leaving his old home. 

Everything tastes better here in the open air,” 
said Jos Kelly. “ I never felt so thirsty before. 
Pass that tankard, please, Mr. Wilde.” 

John Wilde laughed as he handed the old silver 
tankard to the trainer, and said : 

The best Cascade we can get, Kelly. I acknowl- 
edge it is a beverage fit for a nobleman.” 

It is,” said Kelly, smacking his lips as he passed 
on the tankard he had half emptied to Arthur 
Newman. 

After luncheon John Wilde piloted the party 
round the farm. They had not gone far before Jos 
Kelly said : 

Where’s Tom ? He’s preparing a surprise for 
us. I’ll bet.” 

Very likely,” said Mr. Rath, with a smile. 

There a lady in the case.” 

Whew ! ” whistled Kelly, with a disconsolate look 
on his face. It is a pity such a fine young fellow 
should fall in love. It will knock all the sport out 
of him. It generally cures ’em of racing once they 
get into double harness.” 

It did not cure you,” said John Wilde. 

No,” said Kelly. “ I’m a hopeless case as far 
as that is concerned. You see it’s my living, Mr. 
Wilde, and a man cannot very well go back on that.” 

Tom Wilde and Agnes Murray had started to go 


262 


ONL Y A COMMONER. 


round the farm, but they had unconsciously lagged 
behind, and when Tom saw his father and the others 
were a fair distance in front, he said : 

Agnes, come down to the river, it is not far from 
here. We can sit down in the shade. I want to 
have a chat with you.” 

About old times ? ” said Agnes, shyly. 

^Wes,” said Tom, about old times.” 

They walked down to the river bank and sat under 
the trees, which spread overhead and cast fantastic 
shadows on the water. 

All was still and peaceful. Hardly a sound could 
be heard but the twittering of the birds, the occasional 
splash of a fish as it rose at a fly, and the lowing of 
cattle. 

What a lovely place Rydal Farm is,” said Agnes 
Murray ; no one could help being happy here.” 

I am very glad to hear you say so, Agnes,” said 
Tom, because I want to ask you to make it your 
future home.” 

Agnes Murray hung down her head, and a look 
of perfect happiness settled on her face. 

She knew what Tom Wilde was about to say, and 
her heart had answered him already before the 
question was asked. 

‘‘ We have known each other for a good while,” 
said Tom, we have been the best of friends. Agnes, 
you must have seen that my regard for you was 
more than that of mere friendship. I loved you, 
Agnes, from the first moment I saw you on the ship. 
I have loved you dearly all along, but almost with- 
out knowing it. 


A DAY AT RVDAL FARM, 


263 

Agnes, I want you to be my wife. I want you 
to be the mistress of Rydal Farm. Agnes, tell me 
you have loved me as I have loved you. Tell me 
you will be my wife.'* 

She looked up into his face and her eyes met his. 

He needed no words to tell him what her answer 
would be. 

''Agnes, my darling,’' he said, as he kissed her 
fondly. 

" Yes, Tom,” she murmured, " I will be your wife, 
and please God I will do all in my power to make 
you happy.” 

" That I am sure you will,” said Tom ; " I should 
be miserable without you. How pleased father will 
be, for he always loved you as a daughter, Agnes.” 

" He must always live with us, Tom. I would 
never bear to set foot in the house if your father 
did not remain with us,” said Agnes. 

" He will be only too glad to stay at Rydal,” said 
Tom ; " I am sure you will love him as much as I 
do when you know him as well.” 

" I love him now,” she said ; " no one could help 
admiring and respecting his noble, manly nature. 
You ought to be proud of him, Tom, and,” she 
added, " he ought to be proud of his son.” 

Time passed quickly, and the lovers were so happy 
they had not noticed its flight. 

Let us hope time will never hang heavily on their 
hands, but that the days to come will pass all too 
quickly, bringing with each new morning some new 
happiness. 

" We have been here over two hours,” said Tom, 


264 


ONLY A COM3fONER, 


glancing at his watch ; they will think we are lost, 
Agnes.” 

They went back to the house, and found the others 
had just returned. 

A nice couple you are,” said Mr. Rath. ^‘We 
have been looking for you everywhere. Kelly 
fancied you must have fallen into the river.” 

*^Not so bad as that,” said Tom. We did not 
fall into the river, we fell in love. Allow me to 
introduce to you the future Mrs. Wilde. Father, 
your new daughter that’s to be.” 

John Wilde took Agnes by both hands and kissed 
her fondly. 

‘Wou have made me as happy as you have made 
Tom. I conld not have wished him to choose a 
better wife.” 

I congratulate you, Tom,” said Mr. Rath. 
‘‘Agnes is a treasure, I assure you. We shall lose 
by her leaving us, and you will be the gainer.” 

“ I am so glad, Agnes,” said Mrs. Rath. “ Tom 
Wilde is a good fellow. I am sure he will make you 
a good husband.” 

“ Been and gone and done it,” said Jos Kelly. 
“ Well, my boy, I hope you will enjoy your matri- 
monial experience as much as I have,” and Kelly 
made a wry face. 

“ I’ve taken the plunge myself,” said Shanklin, 
“ so I can sympathize with you, Tom.” 

“ What, are you going to run in double harness 
too ? ” said Kelly. 

“ I am,” said Shanklin ; I have prevailed upon 
Mrs. Murton to become Mrs. Shanklin.” 


A DAY AT YDAL FARM, 265 

The deuce you have,” said Mr. Rath ; there 
seems to be matrimony in the air and no mistake. 
We shall have to find Mr. Newman a wife before 
long.” 

Better wait until I can afford to keep one,” said 
Newman; “ at present I find some difficulty in look- 
ing after myself, let alone a wife.” 

Then you ought to take a wife to look after 
you” said Mrs. Rath. 

The moonlight trip down the river to Hobart was 
vastly enjoyed, and Agnes Murray, as she looked 
on the beautiful scenes through which the little 
steamer glided, thought how happy was her lot. 

She was a woman easily contented, and her sole 
aim in life had hitherto been to make all around 
her happy. 

She felt she could make Tom Wilde a good wife, 
and she was happy because she knew she had the 
power to make the man she loved happy. 

John Wilde talked the matter over with Tom that 
night, and he was heartily glad Agnes Murray was 
to come to Rydal as his son’s wife. 

“We have wanted a good woman’s presence in 
this house, Tom. That was all we needed to make 
it perfect. Rydal Farm will be a different place 
with your bonnie lass in it. She will cheer us up 
my lad. There’s nothing like a woman to make a 
home happy.” 

“ She is a good girl, father, and she loves you 
dearly. She said she could never live at Rydal if 
you were not here,” said Tom. 

“ Did she say that ? ” said John Wilde. “ Heaven 


266 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


bless her. It would have finished me off to leave 
you, Tom. I have no one else in the world to look 
to now.'’ 

Dear old dad,” said Tom, as he placed his hand 
on his father’s shoulder ; you have always been so 
good to me. Agnes will help me to make you 
brighter and more cheerful. She will indeed be a 
daughter to you.” 

‘‘I know it, Tom. I feel this is the best possible 
thing that could have happened. Promise me one 
thing, Tom.” 

What is it, father? Of course I will promise.” 

‘‘ Give up racing when you are married,” said 
John Wilde. 

That will not cost much, father,” said Tom. I 
can sell Mystery right out to Kelly. He will be 
only too ready to take my share in him.” 

I would not go as far as that,” said John Wilde. 

What I mean is to give up betting on races. I do 
not see much harm in running a horse when you 
breed him yourself. It is not the racing spoils a 
man, it is the infernal gambling does it.” 

‘‘ So it is,” said Tom. I never have bet heavily, 
and I never will. You need have no fear of that, 
father.” 

I expect you will be married soon ? ” said John 
Wilde. 

‘‘Yes,” said Tom; “the sooner the better, now 
we have made up our minds.” 


GEORGE ANDREWS SEE A NS. 


267 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

GEORGE ANDREWS SPEAKS. 

George Andrews was relieved at the death of 
Hugh Ralton. He tried to feel sorry for the man, 
but he failed. He was no hypocrite, and therefore 
he did not simulate a sorrow he did not feel. 

Hugh Ralton’s death had got him out of more 
than one difficulty. 

Had Ralton lived George Andrews would have 
been compelled to dismiss him, and that would have 
meant Ada Ralton leaving Bullerana. 

Ralton had forged George Andrews* name for a 
considerable sum, which, however, the owner of Bul- 
lerana would not miss, being a wealthy man. 

Nevertheless he hated being robbed, and he would 
not have forgiven Ralton. 

George Andrews would not have prosecuted him 
for his wife’s sake, but he would have dismissed him 
from his post as manager of the station. 

Hugh Ralton being dead, George Andrews thought 
no more of this affair. 

He knew when Ralton was alive he loved his 
manager’s wife. It pained him to think Ada was 
tied to this man. Now all was changed. She was 
free again — free to marry him if she so desired. 


268 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


George Andrews allowed six months to elapse before 
he ventured to broach the subject to Ada. 

During that time she had acted as housekeeper to 
George Andrews, and as a mother to his girl. 

There was no indignity in the position Ada occu- 
pied at Bullerana. She was treated with as much 
deference by every one as though she had been 
George Andrews’ wife. 

Every one employed at Bullerana liked Ada. She 
knew how to make he: self popular, and found it 
much easier to please those under her than to offend 
them. 

Arthur Newman, who was installed as manager in 
Ralton’s place, thought her the model of what a 
woman ought to be. 

He was now George Andrews’ right-hand man, 
and the change from Hugh Ralton to Arthur New- 
man was decidedly one for the better. 

Ada Ralton knew George Andrews would speak 
to her on the subject dearest to his heart. 

She knew he had loved her when her husband was 
alive, and his conduct towards her during that time 
had won her admiration and respect. 

She had made up her mind what her answer would 
be when George Andrews had made up his mind to 
speak. 

She was sitting sewing one night when George 
Andrews came into the room. When she greeted 
him with her pleasant smile she knew what he had 
come for. She could read it in his kind, open face. 

Ada Ralton looked a very charming woman as she 
sat in a comfortable easy chair and chatted with 


GEORGE AJVDREWS SEE ARTS. 269 

George Andrews over the trivial events of the day^ 
which formed the staple conversation at the station. 

How young she looks/' thought George An- 
drews ; she might do a good deal better than marry 
an old fellow like me.” 

He braced up his courage, however, and deter- 
mined to try and win her. 

He felt there was no need of a long preliminary 
courtship between them. He fancied now she was 
free she had divined what his feelings were towards 
her. 

‘^Ada — Mrs. Ralton,” he commenced, and then 
stopped. 

‘‘Yes, Mr. Andrews,” said Ada with a quiet smile, 
“ have you anything particular to say to me ? ” 

How he thanked her for helping him out of his 
difficulty. He caught at the chance without loss of 
time. 

“ I have something very particular to say to you, 
Ada,” he said ; “ at least it is most important to me 
what your answer will be. 

“ I have waited some months, Ada, before speak- 
ing to you, but I can wait no longer. I cannot bear 
to see you in the position you occupy here. I mean 
I wish to jnake your position here more on a level 
with my own.” 

“ I am sorry to have to confess, Ada, that I envied 
Ralton his wife when he was alive, but I tried to hide 
my passion from you. I always tried to treat you 
as the wife of another man ought to be treated.” 

“And you succeeded,” said Ada, quietly. 

“ I am glad to hear you say so, very glad indeed,” 


2^0 ' ONLY A COMMONER, 

said George Andrews. It makes what I have to 
say easier than it otherwise would have been. 

Ada, I love you dearly. I have loved you ever 
since you set foot in this house, and since you have 
been so kind to my little girl. 

‘‘ I am not a young man, Ada. I am a much older 
man than you are a woman, but I am hale and 
hearty, and have, please. God, a good many years of 
life before me. 

‘‘ I will say nothing about my position, Ada. I 
do not fancy that would influence you much in mak- 
ing your choice of a husband. That I am a wealthy 
man you probably are aware, and I am glad I 
am rich, because I can offer to share all I possess with 
you. Ada, if you can take pity on a man such as I 
who loves you dearly, say you will be my wife.” 

She looked George Andrews straight in the face 
with her clear, fearless eyes, as she replied, 

‘‘ I am not worthy to be the wife of such a man 
as you, George.” 

How sweet that name sounded when she uttered 
it. He had never thought much of George before, 
but he did now. 

You have done me a great honor in asking me 
to share your home and be your wife. If you think 
I am worthy to bear your name and that, by marry- 
ing you I shall bring you happiness, then, George, I 
am willing to be your wife.” 

George Andrews sprang from his chair like a hot, 
impetuous lover of twenty, and seizing Ada by both 
hands drew her gently up from her chair and clasped 
her in his arms. 


GEORGE ANDREWS SPEAKS. 


271 


Ada felt a strange sense of security in his strong 
manly grasp. She felt that after all her future life 
would be cast in pleasant places, and that she would 
have a husband who would protect and shield her 
from all harm. 

‘‘ And do you really love me, Ada ? he asked, and 
his voice was tremulous with the happiness within 
him. 

‘‘ Yes, George, I do, and what is more, I respect 
you,*' she said. 

They sat and talked about the future, and were 
very happy in each other’s society. 

Ada had confessed she had never really loved 
Hugh Ralton, and at this avowal George Andrews 
said : 

What on earth made you marry a man like that, 
Ada. I often wondered what could have induced 
you to do so.” 

Ada blushed and hung her head as she thought of 
the real reason that had urged her on to marry 
Hugh Ralton. 

By marrying him she had atoned for the sin of her 
early days, and there was no need to tell George 
Andrews all. 

She could not have told him. She felt it would 
shatter his faith in her, because he believed her 
better than other women. No; she had been pun- 
ished for her folly, and she felt her conscience would 
acquit her of wrong if she did not tell George 
Andrews why she married Hugh Ralton. 

But if she could not tell him the truth she would 
not tell him a lie So she said : 


272 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


I would rather not tell you, George, why I 
married Hugh Ralton/* 

He laughed as he replied : 

It is of no consequence. I suppose you fancied 
you were in love with him. You are not the only 
woman who has married a man believing she loved 
him, and found out afterwards it was all a delu- 
sion.’* 

The wedding was a quiet one, and the only visitors 
present were Tom Wilde and his wife, for Agnes 
Murray had changed her name to Mrs. Tom Wilde, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Rath. 

They were a merry party at Bullerana after the 
ceremony, and both Tom Wilde and George Andrews 
were mightily pleased they had found such good 
wives.” 

I knew you would marry her,” said Mr. Rath to 
George Andrews. It seemed to me a foregone 
conclusion when Ralton was gone. I am glad it is 
so. ' I am sure she will make you a good wife.” 

Violet Rath was a changed woman since the night 
Ada had opened her eyes to the real character of 
Hugh Ralton. 

She was now Ada’s friend, and would have done 
anything to serve her. 

The confidence Ada had reposed in her made 
Violet Rath respect her as she had never done any 
woman before. 

Her congratulations, therefore, to Ada on her mar- 
riage were sincere, and Ada felt them to be so. 

Tom Wilde was delighted with all he saw at 
Bullerana. 


GEORGE ANDREWS SPEAKS. 273 

He loved to roam through the well-kept paddocks 
with Arthur Newman, and to watch the thorough- 
breds as they gambolled and played in unrestricted 
freedom. 

Bullerana was an immense station, and one of the 
best in the colony. Rydal Farm would not have 
filled a small corner of it, but Tom was not an en- 
vious man, and was thoroughly contented with his 
lot in life. 

George Andrews was proud of his stud, and well 
he might be, for the Bullerana matrons had foaled 
winners of nearly all the great races. 

Some of the youngsters looked very promising, 
and Tom wished his purse was a bit longer, so that 
he might buy one in particular he had set his heart 
on. He did not mean to race much, but he knew 
his father would not deprive him of any reasonable 
pleasure. 

‘‘ What a beauty that fellow is ! ” said Tom, as he 
pointed out his particular pet. 

That colt is by Abercorn, and his dam is Merry 
Maid, a real good mare in her time. He ought to 
turn out a clinker, for both sire and dam were great 
racers,'’ said Arthur Newman. 

So you fancy that young Abercorn ? " said 
George Andrews. I have no objection to selling 
him to you,” he added, with a wink at Mr. Rath. 

‘‘ He's a cut above my figure,'' said Tom, with a 
regretful sigh. I am afraid his price will be a stiff 
one.'' 

‘Wery,” said George Andrews. “Now, if Mr. 

was to come here to buy that colt I should 

18 


274 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


ask him a thousand pounds for him, and probably 
get it." 

The Mr. named by George Andrews Tom 

knew was a very wealthy racing man in Victoria. 

I have no doubt he would give you that for 
him," said Tom, he looks worth it." 

That remains to be proved," said George An- 
drews. Many a colt sold for a thousand is not 
worth a hundred. That is all in the chances of the 
game. There is such a lot of luck in buying young 
blood stock." 

If I was a rich man," said Tom, I would risk 
it and take him." 

As I said before, I will sell him to you," said 
George Andrews. 

Tom looked at him in surprise. 

I will sell you that colt for ^200," said George 
Andrews. 

‘‘You are joking," said Tom. “ It would not be 
selling him, it would be giving him away." 

“You shall have him for £200 on one condition, 
that you give me half the stakes you win with him 
as a two-year-old," said George Andrews. 

“You are too generous," said Tom. “I shall be 
only too glad to get him at that price. He is a 
bargain. I am sure you could do much better out 
of him." 

“ Never mind what I could do, Tom," said George 
Andrews. “ I would sooner let you have a colt like 
that for nothing than see him in some men’s hands. 
I believe he will be a good one, and I know you will 
run him straight. I hate to see a good horse I have 


GEORGE ANDREWS SPEARS. 275 

had owned by a lot of so-called gentlemen, who are 
neither more nor less than sharpers.” 

I hope I shall never forfeit your good opinion,” 
said Tom. I am too fond of seeing a horse I own 
win to indulge in such tactics. I am glad to say I 
never had an inclination that way, nor do I think I 
ever shall.” 

I am sure you will not,” said Mr. Rath. “ I 
trusted you, Tom, from the time I saw you knock 
Ralton down at The Mount. I have often laughed 
over that scene.” 

And yet you hardly seemed to agree with what 
I did at the time,” said Tom. 

I could not very well, as he was my guest, but 
when I thought over it all at night I fancied you 
were in the right. I afterwards became sure you 
were,” said Mr. Rath. 

So when Tom Wilde and his wife, with Mr. and 
Mrs. Rath, returned to Hobart, he took over the 
colt by Abercorn out of Merry Maid. 

When Jos Kelly saw him he went into raptures. 

‘‘ What a beauty ! We’ll knock more than a 
Hobart Cup out of him, Mr. Wilde. Let me get 
him ready for the Maribyrnong Plate ? ” 

“ You must not be in too big a hurry, Kelly,” said 
Tom. You shall train him, of course. We must 
win a good race with him as a two-year-old in order 
to give Mr. Andrews half the stakes. Fancy getting 
a colt like him for £ 200 .'* 

Dirt cheap,” said Jos Kelly. I thought Mys-i 
tery was a clinker, but this fellow is a lot better to 
look at.” 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


276 

John Wilde was pleased and proud of the trust 
and confidence such men as George Andrews placed 
in his son. 

Since Agnes had come to Rydal Farm as Tom’s 
wife, John Wilde had been more contented than he 
had ever been since he left Hawthorn Farm. He 
loved Agnes dearly, and she loved him as a father. 

In due course John Wilde became a grandfather, 
and he was the proudest man in the colony the day 
he first dandled his grandson in his arms. 


FROM THE DUKE. 


277 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

FROM THE DUKE. 

The life at Rydal Farm was pleasant and happy. 

Tom Wilde and his wife were admirably suited to 
each other, and John Wilde was contented to see 
them so thoroughly united. 

It was a typical English farmer's family scene 
transplanted to another country. Such men as the 
Wildes are the most desirable colonists. They pre- 
fer to settle on the land to living in the towns. 

Land settlement of a satisfactory character is the 
only thing needed to make the colonies prosperous. 

Huge tracts of the best country, many miles 
square, are often held by one man. This monopoly 
of what should be used to settle desirable people in 
the colonies, is a great drawback, and one that will 
have to be overcome. 

It is not entirely the fault of the people that they 
crowd into the cities and towns. It is the fault, to 
a great extent, of the Governments and their un- 
workable land laws. 

It ought to be the first aim of a Colonial Govern- 
ment to settle people on the land. Vast tracts of 
country in the colonies are devoid of population. 
There is enough land, and to spare, in Australasia, 
to settle millions of people comfortably. It is only 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


278 

with an increase of population that an increase of 
prosperity will come. 

The reason living is so cheap in the colonies is be- 
cause the supply is much greater than the demand, 
and if the outlet in exportation was stopped, there 
would be an over-supply that would become burden- 
some. 

Desirable men, such as the Wildes, would be only 
too glad to leave England, where the farmer has to 
struggle for a bare subsistence, to settle in the col- 
onies, provided the inducements offered were suffi- 
cient. 

Rydal Farm was a model place, and visitors were 
at once struck with its homely appearance. 

John Wilde had brought his farming experience 
in the old country into good account in Tasmania, 
where the climatic conditions are very similar. 

He did not merely content himself with sheep- 
farming, but he raised cattle which, strange to say, 
had hitherto been imported from Sydney to supply 
the Hobart market. 

It certainly appears absurd to a stranger, that in 
such a country as Tasmania it should be found nec- 
essary to import cattle from New South Wales. 

Sheep farming tends to laziness, and so does fruit- 
growing when it is so easily cultivated as in Tasmania. 
John Wilde, however, with that love of honest labor 
so noticeable in the British yeoman, made his land 
return him in full to the extent of its cultivating 
powers. 

Rydal Farm was a fertile spot, and he made the 
most of it. As a natural result, John Wilde and his 


FROM THE DUKE. 


279 

son got on well, and were making money. As they 
made money they extended their property. 

Land is a safe investment in such a place, and 
when a farmer is his own landlord, he reaps the bene- 
fit of his toil. 

This is but just. Labor should not be utilized 
for the sole purpose of filling the pockets of men 
who do no labor. Wealth acquired by labor ought 
to be enjoyed in peace. 

There is a vast difference between inherited riches 
and riches accumulated by personal industry. No 
man appreciates how to spend money more than the 
man who has made it. He knows the full value of 
a pound, and he gets his money’s worth for it. 

As the Wildes increased their worldly possessions, 
they became, by force of that increase, desirable 
colonists. 

What they possessed they had worked for, and 
therefore were entitled to it. 

One morning John Wilde received a letter bear- 
ing the Derbyshire postmark. 

He took it with a beating heart, for he had recog- 
nized on it the Ducal Arms of his former landlord, 
the owner of Hawthorn Farm. 

“ It is from the Duke, Tom,” said John Wilde, in 
a trembling voice. 

What can he have to write about ? ” thought 
Tom. 

John Wilde opened the letter. 

When he had read it, the tears stood in his eyes. 

This letter had put the finishing touch on the old 
yeoman’s happiness. 


28 o 


ONLY A COMMONER. 


Tom took the letter and read it aloud. 

It was a letter any man might have been proud to 
receive, for it was written in the Duke's own hand, 
the handwriting of a man holding a high position in 
Her Majesty's Ministry. Tom read the letter with 
a face glowing with pride. He was pleased for his 
father's sake that such a letter had been written. 

The Duke, after a few preliminary sentences, in 
which he said he had heard of John Wilde's success 
from a friend in Tasmania, went on to express his 
regret at the cause which led to the Wildes leaving 
Hawthorn Farm. 

It is a matter I sincerely regret," wrote His 
Grace, that you should ever have left the farm 
which your ancestors had held from my ancestors 
for three hundred years. The severance of such ties 
is deeply to be deplored between the landed proprie- 
tors and their old and tried tenants. I feel I cannot 
recompense you for the severance of old ties and old 
associations. You will, I am sure, acquit me of any 
intentional harshness in the matter. The cares of 
State I am afraid have occupied too much of my 
time to the exclusion of personal interest in my 
estates. If I have the honor to serve Her Majesty 
as one of her ministers, I feel I ought not to neglect 
the responsibility which an inherited position has 
entailed upon me. You, John Wilde, have always 
had my warmest respect and admiration for your 
character, for sterling honesty and worth is still well 
remembered in this county. I feel it is useless to 
offer you the old farm again. You have formed new 


FJ^OM THE DUKE. 


281 


ties in the new country, and, candidly speaking, I 
think you are better off where you are. By the 
Orizaba I have sent you a gift which I think will be 
acceptable. It is a slight, a very slight acknowledg- 
ment of the regard I have for a tenant I never ought 
to have lost. I have personally selected a fine five- 
years-old Herefordshire bull and two of the best of 
my Herefordshire cows for you, and my agent has 
shipped them in the Orizaba. You are aware how 
successful I have been in breeding Herefordshires, 
and their familiar white faces will remind you of 
the time when you were in our land, and a tenant 
farmer of mine at Hawthorn Farm, where, I repeat 
1 wish you still were. Your son, Tom, I hope is a 
worthy son of a worthy sire.'* 

The letter concluded by wishing John Wilde every 
happiness, and it was signed in the Duke’s own 
name. 

There, father,” said Tom, I call that a splendid 
letter, and it is no more than you deserved. The 
Duke’s a brick after all. What a pity he ever had 
such a man as Ralton as agent ! ” 

He is a great and good man, Tom,” said John 
Wilde, whose reverence for the old aristocracy had 
been born and bred in him. 

I remember those Herefords well. They are 
the best herd in England. They will do well here, 
Tom. We shall beat all comers at the shows with 
the Duke’s breed. They are worth a lot of money. 
I am proud of that letter, Tom. It has been 
written after mature consideration by a man de- 


282 


ONLY A COMMONER, 


sirous of doing justice to us. Shall we go back to 
Hawthorn Farm?'' said John Wilde, with a smile. 

No, father," said Tom. ‘‘ Here we are, and here 
we stay. The Duke knows we are better off in the 
colonies. He is man enough to acknowledge it. 
Let some one else till Hawthorn Farm for him ; we 
have our own land here, and what it yields comes to 
us unencumbered by rents." 

John Wilde wrote a simple, manly letter to the 
Duke, and, to do His Grace justice, this frank epistle 
gave him more pleasure than any letter he had re- 
ceived. 

The Herefords arrived safely at Rydal Farm, and 
when John Wilde saw their white faces and smooth 
bright red coats, he could almost have hugged 
them. 

The cattle were much admired, and, as John 
Wilde had predicted, carried all before them when 
exhibited. 

Jos Kelly had taken the young Abercorn colt in 
hand and was loud in his praises. 

‘‘ Never saw such a galloper," said Jos. Mystery 
was not a patch on him. I believe he is as good as 
his sire ; which is saying a lot." 

It is," said Tom. If he is as good as Abercorn 
we can win any race with him." 

Our story is ended, and with it we leave the 
Wildes in perfect enjoyment of well-earned happi- 
ness. 

That they have earned their happiness none will 
deny. 

By their own exertions they have attained their 


FJ^OM THE DUKE. 283 

prevSent position, and long may they live to enjoy 
it- 

Their example is worth following. Remember, as 
the Wildes did, that 

. “ HONEST LABORS BEAR A LOVELY FACE.” 


THE END. 





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